CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF

GRANADA
WASHINGTON IRVING∗

from the mss. of FRAY ANTONIO AGAPIDA

Author’s Revised Edition

CONTENTS.

I..........Of the Kingdom of Granada, and the Tribute which it Paid

to the Castilian Crown.
II.........Of the Embassy of Don Juan de Vera to Demand Arrears of
Tribute from the Moorish Monarch.
III........Domestic Feuds in the Alhambra–Rival Sultanas–Predictions
concerning Boabdil, the Heir to the Throne–How
Ferdinand Meditates War against Granada, and how he
is Anticipated.
IV.........Expedition of the Muley Abul Hassan against the Fortress
of Zahara.
V..........Expedition of the Marques of Cadiz against Alhama.
VI.........How the People of Granada were Affected on Hearing of the
Capture of the Alhama; and how the Moorish King
sallied forth to Regain it.
VII........How the Duke of Medina Sidonia and the Chivalry of
Andalusia Hastened to the Relief of Alhama.
VIII.......Sequel of the Events at Alhama.
IX.........Events at Granada, and Rise of the Moorish King, Boabdil
el Chico.
X..........Royal Expedition against Loxa.
XI.........How Muley Abul Hassan made a Foray into the Lands of
Medina Sidonia, and how he was Received.
XII........Foray of Spanish Cavaliers among the Mountains of Malaga.
XIII.......Effects of the Disasters among the Mountains of Malaga.
XIV........How King Boabdil el Chico Marched over the Border.
XV.........How the Count de Cabra sallied forth from his Castle in
Quest of King Boabdil.
XVI........The Battle of Lucena.
∗ PDF created by pdfbooks.co.za

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XVII.......Lamentations of the Moors for the Battle of Lucena.
XVIII......How Muley Abul Hassan Profited by the Misfortunes of his
Son Boabdil.
XIX........Captivity of Boabdil el Chico.
XX.........Of the Treatment of Boabdil by the Castilian Sovereigns.
XXI........Return of Boabdil from Captivity.
XXII.......Foray of the Moorish Alcaydes, and Battle of Lopera.
XXIII......Retreat of Hamet el Zegri, Alcayde of Ronda.
XXIV.......Of the reception at Court of the Count de Cabra and the
Alcayde de los Donceles.
XXV........How the Marques of Cadiz concerted to Surprise Zahara,
and the Result of his Enterprise.
XXVI.......Of the Fortress of Alhama, and how Wisely it was Governed
by the Count de Tendilla.
XXVII......Foray of Christian Knights into the Territory of the Moors.
XXVIII.....Attempt of El Zagal to Surprise Boabdil in Almeria.
XXIX.......How King Ferdinand Commenced another Campaign against the
Moors, and how he Laid Siege to Coin and Cartama.
XXX........Siege of Ronda.
XXXI.......How the People of Granada invited El Zagal to the Throne,
and how he Marched to the Capital.
XXXII......How the Count de Cabra attempted to Capture another King,
and how he Fared in his Attempt.
XXXIII.....Expedition against the Castles of Cambil and Albahar.
XXXIV......Enterprise of the Knights of Calatrava against Zalea.
XXXV.......Death of Muley Abul Hassan.
XXXVI......Of the Christian Army which Assembled at the City of
Cordova.
XXXVII.....How Fresh Commotions broke out in Granada, and how the
People undertook to Allay them.
XXXVIII....How King Ferdinand held a Council of War at the Rock of
the Lovers.
XXXIX......How the Royal Army appeared Before the City of Loxa, and
how it was Received; and of the Doughty Achievements
of the English Earl.
XL.........Conclusion of the Siege of Loxa.
XLI........Capture of Illora.
XLII.......Of the Arrival of Queen Isabella at the Camp before Moclin;
and of the Pleasant Sayings of the English Earl.
XLIII......How King Ferdinand Attacked Moclin, and of the Strange
Events that attended its Capture.
XLIV.......How King Ferdinand Foraged the Vega; and of the Battle of
the Bridge of Pinos, and the Fate of the two Moorish
Brothers.
XLV........Attempt of El Zagal upon the Life of Boabdil, and how the
Latter was Roused to Action.
XLVI.......How Boabdil returned Secretly to Granada, and how he was
Received.–Second Embassy of Don Juan de Vera, and his
Perils in the Alhambra.
XLVII......How King Ferdinand laid Siege to Velez Malaga.

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XLVIII.....How King Ferdinand and his Army were Exposed to Imminent
Peril before Velez Malaga.
XLIX.......Result of the Stratagem of El Zagal to Surprise King
Ferdinand.
L..........How the People of Granada Rewarded the Valor of El Zagal.
LI.........Surrender of the Velez Malaga and Other Places.
LII........Of the City of Malaga and its Inhabitants.–Mission of
Hernando del Pulgar.
LIII.......Advance of King Ferdinand against Malaga.
LIV........Siege of Malaga.
LV.........Siege of Malaga continued.–Obstinacy of Hamet el Zegri.
LVI........Attack of the Marques of Cadiz upon Gibralfaro.
LVII.......Siege of Malaga continued.–Stratagems of Various Kinds.
LVIII......Sufferings of the People of Malaga.
LIX........How a Moorish Santon Undertook to Deliver the City of
Malaga from the Power of its Enemies.
LX.........How Hamet el Zegri was Hardened in his Obstinacy by the
Arts of a Moorish Astrologer.
LXI........Siege of Malaga continued.–Destruction of a Tower by
Francisco Ramirez de Madrid.
LXII.......How the People of Malaga expostulated with Hamet el Zegri.
LXIII......How Hamet el Zegri Sallied forth with the Sacred Banner to
Attack the Christian Camp.

LXIV.......How the City of Malaga Capitulated.

LXV........Fulfilment of the Prophecy of the Dervise.–Fate of Hamet
el Zegri.
LXVI.......How the Castilian Sovereigns took Possession of the City
of Malaga, and how King Ferdinand signalized himself
by his Skill in Bargaining with the Inhabitants for
their Ransom.
LXVII......How King Ferdinand prepared to Carry the War into a
Different Part of the Territories of the Moors.
LXVIII.....How King Ferdinand Invaded the Eastern Side of the
Kingdom of Granada, and how He was Received by
El Zagal.
LXIX.......How the Moors made Various Enterprises against the
Christians.
LXX........How King Ferdinand prepared to Besiege the City of Baza,
and how the City prepared for Defence.
LXXI.......The Battle of the Gardens before Baza.
LXXII......Siege of Baza.–Embarrassments of the Army.
LXXIII.....Siege of Baza continued.–How King Ferdinand completely
Invested the City.
LXXIV......Exploit of Hernan Perez del Pulgar and Other Cavaliers.
LXXV.......Continuation of the Siege of Baza.
LXXVI......How Two Friars from the Holy Land arrived at the Camp.
LXXVII.....How Queen Isabella devised Means to Supply the Army
with Provisions.
LXXVIII....Of the Disasters which Befell the Camp.

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LXXIX......Encounters between the Christians and Moors before Baza,
and the Devotion of the Inhabitants to the Defence of
their City.
LXXX.......How Queen Isabella arrived at the Camp, and the
Consequences of her Arrival.
LXXXI......Surrender of Baza.
LXXXII.....Submission of El Zagal to the Castilian Sovereigns.
LXXXIII....Events at Granada subsequent to the Submission of El Zagal.
LXXXIV.....How King Ferdinand turned his Hostilities against the City
of Granada.
LXXXV......The Fate of the Castle of Roma.
LXXXVI.....How Boabdil el Chico took the Field, and his Expedition
against Alhendin.
LXXXVII....Exploit of the Count de Tendilla.
LXXXVIII...Expedition of Boabdil el Chico against Salobrena.–Exploit
of Hernan Perez del Pulgar.
LXXXIX.....How King Ferdinand Treated the People of Guadix, and how
El Zagal Finished his Regal Career.
XC.........Preparations of Granada for a Desperate Defence.
XCI........How King Ferdinand conducted the Siege cautiously, and
how Queen Isabella arrived at the Camp.
XCII.......Of the Insolent Defiance of Tarfe the Moor, and the Daring
Exploit of Hernan Perez del Pulgar.
XCIII......How Queen Isabella took a View of the City of Granada, and
how her Curiosity cost the Lives of many Christians
and Moors.
XCIV.......The Last Ravage before Granada.
XCV........Conflagration of the Christian Camp.–Building of Santa Fe.
XCVI.......Famine and Discord in the City.
XCVII......Capitulation of Granada.
XCVIII.....Commotions in Granada.
XCIX.......Surrender of Granada.
C..........How the Castilian Sovereigns took Possession of Granada.

Appendix.

INTRODUCTION.

Although the following Chronicle bears the name of the venerable

Fray Antonio Agapida, it is rather a superstructure reared upon the
fragments which remain of his work. It may be asked, Who is this
same Agapida, who is cited with such deference, yet whose name is
not to be found in any of the catalogues of Spanish authors? The
question is hard to answer. He appears to have been one of the
many indefatigable authors of Spain who have filled the libraries of
convents and cathedrals with their tomes, without ever dreaming

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of bringing their labors to the press. He evidently was deeply and
accurately informed of the particulars of the wars between his
countrymen and the Moors, a tract of history but too much overgrown
with the weeds of fable. His glowing zeal, also, in the cause of the
Catholic faith entitles him to be held up as a model of the good
old orthodox chroniclers, who recorded with such pious exultation
the united triumphs of the cross and the sword. It is deeply to
be regretted, therefore, that his manuscripts, deposited in the
libraries of various convents, have been dispersed during the late
convulsions in Spain, so that nothing is now to be met of them but
disjointed fragments. These, however, are too precious to be
suffered to fall into oblivion, as they contain many curious facts
not to be found in any other historian. In the following work,
therefore, the manuscript of the worthy Fray Antonio will be adopted
wherever it exists entire, but will be filled up, extended, illustrated,
and corroborated by citations from various authors, both Spanish
and Arabian, who have treated of the subject. Those who may
wish to know how far the work is indebted to the Chronicle of Fray
Antonio Agapida may readily satisfy their curiosity by referring to
his manuscript fragments, carefully preserved in the Library of
the Escurial.

Before entering upon the history it may be as well to notice the

opinions of certain of the most learned and devout historiographers
of former times relative to this war.

Marinus Siculus, historian to Charles V., pronounces it a war to

avenge ancient injuries received by the Christians from the Moors,
to recover the kingdom of Granada, and to extend the name and
honor of the Christian religion.

Lucio Marino Siculo, Cosas Memorabiles de Espana, lib. 20.

Estevan de Garibay, one of the most distinguished Spanish historians,

regards the war as a special act of divine clemency toward the Moors,
to the end that those barbarians and infidels, who had dragged out
so many centuries under the diabolical oppression of the absurd sect
of Mahomet, should at length be reduced to the Christian faith.

Garibay, Compend. Hist. Espana, lib. 18, c. 22.

Padre Mariana, also a venerable Jesuit and the most renowned

historian of Spain, considers the past domination of the Moors a
scourge inflicted on the Spanish nation for its iniquities, but the
conquest of Granada the reward of Heaven for its great act of
propitiation in establishing the glorious tribunal of the Inquisition!
No sooner (says the worthy father) was this holy office opened
in Spain than there shone forth a resplendent light. Then it was
that, through divine favor, the nation increased in power, and
became competent to overthrow and trample down the Moorish

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domination.

Mariana, Hist. Espana, lib. 25, c. 1.

Having thus cited high and venerable authority for considering this
war in the light of one of those pious enterprises denominated
crusades, we trust we have said enough to engage the Christian
reader to follow us into the field and stand by us to the very issue
of the encounter.

NOTE TO THE REVISED EDITION.

The foregoing introduction, prefixed to the former editions of this

work, has been somewhat of a detriment to it. Fray Antonio Agapida
was found to be an imaginary personage, and this threw a doubt
over the credibility of his Chronicle, which was increased by a vein
of irony indulged here and there, and by the occasional heightening
of some of the incidents and the romantic coloring of some of the
scenes. A word or two explanatory may therefore be of service.

Many of the observations in this note have already appeared in

an explanatory article which at Mr. Murray’s request, the author
furnished to the London Quarterly Review.

The idea of the work was suggested while I was occupied at Madrid
in writing the Life of Columbus. In searching for traces of his early
life I was led among the scenes of the war of Granada, he having
followed the Spanish sovereigns in some of their campaigns, and been
present at the surrender of the Moorish capital. I actually wove
some of these scenes into the biography, but found they occupied an
undue space, and stood out in romantic relief not in unison with the
general course of the narrative. My mind, however, had become so
excited by the stirring events and romantic achievements of this war
that I could not return with composure to the sober biography I had
in hand. The idea then occurred, as a means of allaying the
excitement, to throw off a rough draught of the history of this war,
to be revised and completed at future leisure. It appeared to me
that its true course and character had never been fully illustrated.
The world had received a strangely perverted idea of it through
Florian’s romance of ”Gonsalvo of Cordova,” or through the legend,
equally fabulous, entitled ”The Civil Wars of Granada,” by Ginez
Perez de la Hita, the pretended work of an Arabian contemporary,
but in reality a Spanish fabrication. It had been woven over with
love-tales and scenes of sentimental gallantry totally opposite to
its real character; for it was, in truth, one of the sternest of those
iron conflicts sanctified by the title of ”holy wars.” In fact, the
genuine nature of the war placed it far above the need of any
amatory embellishments. It possessed sufficient interest in the
striking contrast presented by the combatants of Oriental and
European creeds, costumes, and manners, and in the hardy and

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harebrained enterprises, the romantic adventures, the picturesque
forays through mountain regions, the daring assaults and surprisals
of cliff-built castles and cragged fortresses, which succeeded each
other with a variety and brilliancy beyond the scope of mere
invention.

The time of the contest also contributed to heighten the interest.

It was not long after the invention of gunpowder, when firearms and
artillery mingled the flash and smoke and thunder of modern warfare
with the steely splendor of ancient chivalry, and gave an awful
magnificence and terrible sublimity to battle, and when the old
Moorish towers and castles, that for ages had frowned defiance to
the battering-rams and catapults of classic tactics, were toppled
down by the lombards of the Spanish engineers. It was one of the
cases in which history rises superior to fiction.

The more I thought about the subject, the more I was tempted to
undertake it, and the facilities at hand at length determined me.
In the libraries of Madrid and in the private library of the
American consul, Mr. Rich, I had access to various chronicles and
other works, both printed and in manuscript, written at the time by
eyewitnesses, and in some instances by persons who had actually
mingled in the scenes recorded and gave descriptions of them from
different points of view and with different details. These works
were often diffuse and tedious, and occasionally discolored by the
bigotry, superstition, and fierce intolerance of the age; but their
pages were illumined at times with scenes of high emprise, of
romantic generosity, and heroic valor, which flashed upon the reader
with additional splendor from the surrounding darkness. I collated
these various works, some of which have never appeared in print,
drew from each facts relative to the different enterprises, arranged
them in as clear and lucid order as I could command, and endeavored
to give them somewhat of a graphic effect by connecting them with
the manners and customs of the age in which they occurred. The
rough draught being completed, I laid the manuscript aside and
proceeded with the Life of Columbus. After this was finished and
sent to the press I made a tour in Andalusia, visited the ruins of
the Moorish towns, fortresses, and castles, and the wild mountain-
passes and defiles which had been the scenes of the most
remarkable events of the war, and passed some time in the ancient
palace of the Alhambra, the once favorite abode of the Moorish
monarchs. Everywhere I took notes, from the most advantageous
points of view, of whatever could serve to give local verity and
graphic effect to the scenes described. Having taken up my abode
for a time at Seville, I then resumed my manuscript and rewrote it,
benefited by my travelling notes and the fresh and vivid impressions
of my recent tour. In constructing my chronicle I adopted the
fiction of a Spanish monk as the chronicler. Fray Antonio Agapida
was intended as a personification of the monkish zealots who hovered
about the sovereigns in their campaigns, marring the chivalry of the

7
camp by the bigotry of the cloister, and chronicling in rapturous
strains every act of intolerance toward the Moors. In fact, scarce
a sally of the pretended friar when he bursts forth in rapturous
eulogy of some great stroke of selfish policy on the part of Ferdinand,
or exults over some overwhelming disaster of the gallant and devoted
Moslems, but is taken almost word for word from one or other of the
orthodox chroniclers of Spain.

The ironical vein also was provoked by the mixture of kingcraft and
priestcraft discernible throughout this great enterprise, and the
mistaken zeal and self-delusion of many of its most gallant and
generous champions. The romantic coloring seemed to belong to
the nature of the subject, and was in harmony with what I had seen
in my tour through the poetical and romantic regions in which the
events had taken place. With all these deductions the work, in all
its essential points, was faithful to historical fact and built upon
substantial documents. It was a great satisfaction to me,
therefore, after the doubts that had been expressed of the
authenticity of my chronicle, to find it repeatedly and largely used
by Don Miguel Lafuente Alcantara of Granada in his recent learned
and elaborate history of his native city, he having had ample
opportunity, in his varied and indefatigable researches, of judging
how far it accorded with documentary authority.

I have still more satisfaction in citing the following testimonial of

Mr. Prescott, whose researches for his admirable history of
Ferdinand and Isabella took him over the same ground I had
trodden. His testimonial is written in the liberal and courteous
spirit characteristic of him, but with a degree of eulogium which
would make me shrink from quoting it did I not feel the importance
of his voucher for the substantial accuracy of my work:

”Mr. Irving’s late publication, the ’Chronicle of the Conquest of

Granada,’ has superseded all further necessity for poetry and,
unfortunately for me, for history. He has fully availed himself of
all the picturesque and animating movement of this romantic era,
and the reader who will take the trouble to compare his chronicle
with the present more prosaic and literal narrative will see how
little he has been seduced from historic accuracy by the poetical
aspect of his subject. The fictitious and romantic dress of his work
has enabled him to make it the medium of reflecting more vividly the
floating opinions and chimerical fancies of the age, while he has
illuminated the picture with the dramatic brilliancy of coloring
denied to sober history.”

Prescott’s Ferdinand and Isabella, vol. ii. c. 15.

In the present edition I have endeavored to render the work more

worthy of the generous encomium of Mr. Prescott. Though I still
retain the fiction of the monkish author Agapida, I have brought my

8
narrative more strictly within historical bounds, have corrected and
enriched it in various parts with facts recently brought to light by
the researches of Alcantara and others, and have sought to render
it a faithful and characteristic picture of the romantic portion of
history to which it relates.

W. I.

Sunnyside, 1850.

A CHRONICLE OF THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA.

CHAPTER I.

OF THE KINGDOM OF GRANADA, AND THE TRIBUTE WHICH IT

PAID TO THE CASTILIAN CROWN.

The history of those bloody and disastrous wars which have caused
the downfall of mighty empires (observes Fray Antonio Agapida) has
ever been considered a study highly delectable and full of precious
edification. What, then, must be the history of a pious crusade
waged by the most Catholic of sovereigns to rescue from the power
of the infidels one of the most beautiful but benighted regions of
the globe? Listen, then, while from the solitude of my cell I relate
the events of the conquest of Granada, where Christian knight and
turbaned infidel disputed, inch by inch, the fair land of Andalusia,
until the Crescent, that symbol of heathenish abomination, was cast
down, and the blessed Cross, the tree of our redemption, erected in
its stead.

Nearly eight hundred years were past and gone since the Arabian
invaders had sealed the perdition of Spain by the defeat of Don
Roderick, the last of her Gothic kings. Since that disastrous event
one portion after another of the Peninsula had been gradually
recovered by the Christian princes, until the single but powerful
and warlike territory of Granada alone remained under the domination
of the Moors.

This renowned kingdom, situated in the southern part of Spain and

washed on one side by the Mediterranean Sea, was traversed in every
direction by sierras or chains of lofty and rugged mountains, naked,
rocky, and precipitous, rendering it almost impregnable, but locking
up within their sterile embraces deep, rich, and verdant valleys of
prodigal fertility.

In the centre of the kingdom lay its capital, the beautiful city of

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Granada, sheltered, as it were, in the lap of the Sierra Nevada, or
Snowy Mountains. Its houses, seventy thousand in number, covered
two lofty hills with their declivities and a deep valley between them,
through which flowed the Darro. The streets were narrow, as is
usual in Moorish and Arab cities, but there were occasionally small
squares and open places. The houses had gardens and interior
courts, set out with orange, citron, and pomegranate trees and
refreshed by fountains, so that as the edifices ranged above
each other up the sides of the hills, they presented a delightful
appearance of mingled grove and city. One of the hills was
surmounted by the Alcazaba, a strong fortress commanding all
that part of the city; the other by the Alhambra, a royal palace and
warrior castle, capable of containing within its alcazar and towers
a garrison of forty thousand men, but possessing also its harem, the
voluptuous abode of the Moorish monarchs, laid out with courts and
gardens, fountains and baths, and stately halls decorated in the
most costly style of Oriental luxury. According to Moorish
tradition, the king who built this mighty and magnificent pile was
skilled in the occult sciences, and furnished himself with the
necessary funds by means of alchemy. Such was its lavish splendor
that even at the present day the stranger, wandering through its
silent courts and deserted halls, gazes with astonishment at gilded
ceilings and fretted domes, the brilliancy and beauty of which have
survived the vicissitudes of war and the silent dilapidation of ages.

Zurita, lib. 20, c. 42.

The city was surrounded by high walls, three leagues in circuit,

furnished with twelve gates and a thousand and thirty towers. Its
elevation above the sea and the neighborhood of the Sierra Nevada
crowned with perpetual snows tempered the fervid rays of summer,
so that while other cities were panting with the sultry and stifling
heat of the dog-days, the most salubrious breezes played through
the marble halls of Granada.

The glory of the city, however, was its Vega or plain, which spread
out to a circumference of thirty-seven leagues, surrounded by lofty
mountains, and was proudly compared to the famous plain of Damascus.
It was a vast garden of delight, refreshed by numerous fountains and
by the silver windings of the Xenil. The labor and ingenuity of the
Moors had diverted the waters of this river into thousands of rills
and streams, and diffused them over the whole surface of the plain.
Indeed, they had wrought up this happy region to a degree of
wonderful prosperity, and took a pride in decorating it as if it had
been a favorite mistress. The hills were clothed with orchards and
vineyards, the valleys embroidered with gardens, and the wide plains
covered with waving grain. Here were seen in profusion the orange,
the citron, the fig, and the pomegranate, with great plantations of
mulberry trees, from which was produced the finest silk. The vine
clambered from tree to tree, the grapes hung in rich clusters about

10
the peasant’s cottage, and the groves were rejoiced by the perpetual
song of the nightingale. In a word, so beautiful was the earth, so
pure the air, and so serene the sky of this delicious region that
the Moors imagined the paradise of their Prophet to be situated in
that part of the heaven which overhung the kingdom of Granada.

Within this favored realm, so prodigally endowed and strongly

fortified by nature, the Moslem wealth, valor, and intelligence,
which had once shed such a lustre over Spain, had gradually retired,
and here they made their final stand. Granada had risen to splendor
on the ruin of other Moslem kingdoms, but in so doing had become
the sole object of Christian hostility, and had to maintain its very
existence by the sword. The Moorish capital accordingly presented
a singular scene of Asiatic luxury and refinement, mingled with
the glitter and the din of arms. Letters were still cultivated,
philosophy and poetry had their schools and disciples, and the
language spoken was said to be the most elegant Arabic. A passion
for dress and ornament pervaded all ranks. That of the princesses
and ladies of high rank, says Al Kattib, one of their own writers,
was carried to a height of luxury and magnificence that bordered on
delirium. They wore girdles and bracelets and anklets of gold and
silver, wrought with exquisite art and delicacy and studded with
jacinths, chrysolites, emeralds, and other precious stones. They
were fond of braiding and decorating their beautiful long tresses
or confining them in knots sparkling with jewels. They were finely
formed, excessively fair, graceful in their manners, and fascinating
in their conversation; when they smiled, says Al Kattib, they
displayed teeth of dazzling whiteness, and their breath was as
the perfume of flowers.

The Moorish cavaliers, when not in armor, delighted in dressing

themselves in Persian style, in garments of wool, of silk, or cotton
of the finest texture, beautifully wrought with stripes of various
colors. In winter they wore, as an outer garment, the African cloak
or Tunisian albornoz, but in the heat of summer they arrayed
themselves in linen of spotless whiteness. The same luxury
prevailed in their military equipments. Their armor was inlaid and
chased with gold and silver. The sheaths of their scimetars were
richly labored and enamelled, the blades were of Damascus bearing
texts from the Koran or martial and amorous mottoes; the belts were
of golden filigree studded with gems; their poniards of Fez were
wrought in the arabesque fashion; their lances bore gay bandaroles;
their horses were sumptuously caparisoned with housings of green and
crimson velvet, wrought with silk and enamelled with gold and silver.
All this warlike luxury of the youthful chivalry was encouraged by the
Moorish kings, who ordained that no tax should be imposed on the
gold and silver employed in these embellishments; and the same
exxfxception was extended to the bracelets and other ornaments worn
by the fair dames of Granada.

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 Of the chivalrous gallantry which prevailed between the sexes in
this romantic period of Moorish history we have traces in the
thousand ballads which have come down to our day, and which
have given a tone and coloring to Spanish amatory literature and
to everything in Spain connected with the tender passion.

War was the normal state of Granada and its inhabitants; the common
people were subject at any moment to be summoned to the field, and
all the upper class was a brilliant chivalry. The Christian princes, so
successful in regaining the rest of the Peninsula, found their triumphs
checked at the mountain-boundaries of this kingdom. Every peak
had its atalaya, or watch-tower, ready to make its fire by night or
to send up its column of smoke by day, a signal of invasion at which
the whole country was on the alert. To penetrate the defiles of this
perilous country, to surprise a frontier fortress, or to make a foray
into the Vega and a hasty ravage within sight of the very capital
were among the most favorite and daring exploits of the Castilian
chivalry. But they never pretended to hold the region thus ravaged;
it was sack, burn, plunder, and away; and these desolating inroads
were retaliated in kind by the Moorish cavaliers, whose greatest
delight was a ”tala,” or predatory incursion, into the Christian
territories beyond the mountains.

A partisan warfare of this kind had long existed between Granada and
its most formidable antagonists, the kingdoms of Castile and Leon.
It was one which called out the keen yet generous rivalry of
Christian and Moslem cavaliers, and gave rise to individual acts of
chivalrous gallantry and daring prowess; but it was one which was
gradually exhausting the resources and sapping the strength of
Granada. One of the latest of its kings, therefore, Aben Ismael by
name, disheartened by a foray which had laid waste the Vega, and
conscious that the balance of warfare was against his kingdom,
made a truce in 1457 with Henry IV., king of Castile and Leon,
stipulating to pay him an annual tribute of twelve thousand doblas
or pistoles of gold, and to liberate annually six hundred Christian
captives, or in default of captives to give an equal number of Moors
as hostages,–all to be delivered at the city of Cordova.

Garibay, Compend., 1.17, c. 3.

The truce, however, was of a partial nature, with singular

reservations. It did not include the Moorish frontier toward Jaen,
which was to remain open for the warlike enterprises of either
nation; neither did it prohibit sudden attacks upon towns and
castles, provided they were mere forays, conducted furtively,
without sound of trumpet or display of banners or pitching of camps
or regular investment, and that they did not last above three days.

Zurita, Anales de Aragon, 1. 20, c. 42; Mariana, Hist. de Espana 1.

25, c. 1; Bleda, Coron. de los Moros, l. 5, c. 3.

12
 Aben Ismael was faithful in observing the conditions of the truce,
but they were regarded with impatience by his eldest son, Muley
Abul Hassan, a prince of a fiery and belligerent spirit, and fond of
casing himself in armor and mounting his war-horse. He had been
present at Cordova at one of the payments of tribute, and had
witnessed the scoffs and taunts of the Christians, and his blood
boiled whenever he recalled the humiliating scene. When he came
to the throne in 1465, on the death of his father, he ceased the
payment of the tribute altogether, and it was sufficient to put him
into a tempest of rage only to mention it.

”He was a fierce and warlike infidel,” says the pious Fray Antonio
Agapida; ”his bitterness against the holy Christian faith had been
signalized in battle during the lifetime of his father, and the same
diabolical spirit of hostility was apparent in his ceasing to pay
this most righteous tribute.”

CHAPTER II.

OF THE EMBASSY OF DON JUAN DE VERA TO DEMAND ARREARS

OF TRIBUTE FROM THE MOORISH MONARCH.

The flagrant want of faith of Muley Abul Hassan in fulfilling treaty

stipulations passed unresented during the residue of the reign of
Henry the Impotent, and the truce was tacitly continued without the
enforcement of tribute during the first three years of the reign of his
successors, Ferdinand and Isabella of glorious and happy memory,
who were too much engrossed by civil commotions in their own
dominions, and by a war of succession waged with them by the king
of Portugal, to risk an additional conflict with the Moorish sovereign.
When, however, at the expiration of the term of truce, Muley Abul
Hassan sought a renewal of it, the pride and piety of the Castilian
sovereigns were awakened to the flagrant defalcation of the infidel
king, and they felt themselves called upon, by their dignity as
monarchs and their religious obligations as champions of the faith,
to make a formal demand for the payment of arrearages.

In the year of grace 1478, therefore, Don Juan de Vera, a zealous

and devout knight, full of ardor for the faith and loyalty to the
Crown, was sent as ambassador for the purpose. He was armed
at all points, gallantly mounted, and followed by a moderate but
well-appointed retinue: in this way he crossed the Moorish frontier,
and passed slowly through the country, looking round him with the
eyes of a practised warrior and carefully noting its military points
and capabilities. He saw that the Moor was well prepared for

13
possible hostilities. Every town was strongly fortified. The Vega
was studded with towers of refuge for the peasantry: every pass
of the mountain had its castle of defence, every lofty height its
watch-tower. As the Christian cavaliers passed under the walls of
the fortresses, lances and scimetars flashed from their battlements,
and the Moorish sentinels darted from their dark eyes glances of
hatred and defiance. It was evident that a war with this kingdom
must be a war of posts, full of doughty peril and valiant enterprise,
where every step must be gained by toil and bloodshed, and
maintained with the utmost difficulty. The warrior spirit of the
cavaliers kindled at the thoughts, and they were impatient for
hostilities; ”not,” says Antonio Agapida, ”from any thirst for rapine
and revenge, but from that pure and holy indignation which every
Spanish knight entertained at beholding this beautiful dominion of
his ancestors defiled by the footsteps of infidel usurpers. It was
impossible,” he adds, ”to contemplate this delicious country, and
not long to see it restored to the dominion of the true faith and
the sway of the Christian monarchs.”

Arrived at the gates of Granada, Don Juan de Vera and his companions
saw the same vigilant preparations on the part of the Moorish king.
His walls and towers were of vast strength, in complete repair, and
mounted with lombards and other heavy ordnance. His magazines
were well stored with the munitions of war; he had a mighty host of
foot-soldiers, together with squadrons of cavalry, ready to scour
the country and carry on either defensive or predatory warfare. The
Christian warriors noted these things without dismay; their hearts
rather glowed with emulation at the thoughts of encountering so
worthy a foe. As they slowly pranced through the streets of Granada
they looked round with eagerness on the stately palaces and
sumptuous mosques, on its alcayceria or bazar, crowded with silks
and cloth of silver and gold, with jewels and precious stones, and
other rich merchandise, the luxuries of every clime; and they longed
for the time when all this wealth should be the spoil of the soldiers
of the faith, and when each tramp of their steeds might be
fetlock deep in the blood and carnage of the infidels.

The Moorish inhabitants looked jealously at this small but proud

array of Spanish chivalry, as it paraded, with that stateliness
possessed only by Spanish cavaliers, through the renowned gate of
Elvira. They were struck with the stern and lofty demeanor of Don
Juan de Vera and his sinewy frame, which showed him formed for
hardy deeds of arms, and they supposed he had come in search of
distinction by defying the Moorish knights in open tourney or in the
famous tilt with reeds for which they were so renowned, for it was
still the custom of the knights of either nation to mingle in these
courteous and chivalrous contests during the intervals of war. When
they learnt, however, that he was come to demand the tribute so
abhorrent to the ears of the fiery monarch, they observed that it
well required a warrior of his apparent nerve to execute such an

14
embassy.

Muley Abul Hassan received the cavalier in state, seated on a

magnificent divan and surrounded by the officers of his court, in
the Hall of Ambassadors, one of the most sumptuous apartments of
the Alhambra. When De Vera had delivered his message, a haughty
and bitter smile curled the lip of the fierce monarch. ”Tell your
sovereigns,” said he, ”that the kings of Granada, who used to pay
tribute in money to the Castilian crown, are dead. Our mint at
present coins nothing but blades of scimetars and heads of lances.”

Garibay, 1. 40, c. 29; Conde, Hist. Arab., p. 4, c. 34.

The defiance couched in this proud reply was heard with secret
satisfaction by Don Juan de Vera, for he was a bold soldier and a
devout hater of the infidels, and he saw iron war in the words of
the Moorish monarch. Being master, however, of all points of
etiquette, he retained an inflexible demeanor, and retired from the
apartment with stately and ceremonious gravity. His treatment
was suited to his rank and dignity: a magnificent apartment in the
Alhambra was assigned to him, and before his departure a scimetar
was sent to him by the king, the blade of the finest Damascus steel,
the hilt of agate enriched with precious stones, and the guard of
gold. De Vera drew it, and smiled grimly as he noticed the admirable
temper of the blade. ”His Majesty has given me a trenchant weapon,”
said he: ”I trust a time will come when I may show him that I know how
to use his royal present.” The reply was considered a compliment,
of course: the bystanders little knew the bitter hostility that lay
couched beneath.

On his return to Cordova, Don Juan de Vera delivered the reply of

the Moor, but at the same time reported the state of his territories.
These had been strengthened and augmented during the weak
reign of Henry IV. and the recent troubles of Castile. Many cities and
strong places contiguous to Granada, but heretofore conquered by
the Christians, had renewed their allegiance to Muley Abul Hassan,
so that his kingdom now contained fourteen cities, ninety-seven
fortified places, besides numerous unwalled towns and villages
defended by formidable castles, while Granada towered in the centre
as the citadel.

The wary Ferdinand, as he listened to the military report of Don

Juan de Vera, saw that the present was no time for hostilities with
a warrior kingdom so bristled over with means of defence. The
internal discords of Castile still continued, as did the war with
Portugal: under these circumstances he forbore to insist upon the
payment of tribute, and tacitly permitted the truce to continue; but
the defiance contained in the reply of Muley Abul Hassan remained
rankling in his bosom as a future ground of war; and De Vera’s
description of Granada as the centre of a system of strongholds and

15
rock-built castles suggested to him his plan of conquest–by taking
town after town and fortress after fortress, and gradually plucking
away all the supports before he attempted the capital. He expressed
his resolution in a memorable pun or play upon the name of Granada,
which signifies a pomegranate. ”I will pick out the seeds of this
pomegranate one by one,” said the cool and crafty Ferdinand.

NOTE.–In the first edition of this work the author recounted a

characteristic adventure of the stout Juan de Vera as happening on
the occasion of this embassy; a further consultation of historical
authorities has induced him to transfer it to a second embassy of De
Vera’s, which the reader will find related in a subsequent chapter.

CHAPTER III.

DOMESTIC FEUDS IN THE ALHAMBRA–RIVAL SULTANAS–

PREDICTIONS CONCERNING BOABDIL, THE HEIR TO THE
THRONE–HOW FERDINAND MEDITATES WAR AGAINST
GRANADA, AND HOW HE IS ANTICIPATED.

Though Muley Abul Hassan was at peace in his external relations,

a civil war raged in his harem, which it is proper to notice, as it had
a fatal effect upon the fortunes of the kingdom. Though cruel by
nature, he was uxorious and somewhat prone to be managed by his
wives. Early in life he had married his kinswoman, Ayxa (or Ayesha),
daughter of his great-uncle, the sultan Mohammed VII., surnamed El
Hayzari, or the Left-handed. She was a woman of almost masculine
spirit and energy, and of such immaculate and inaccessible virtue
that she was generally called La Horra, or the Chaste. By her he
had a son, Abu Abdallah, or, as he is commonly named by historians,
Boabdil. The court astrologers, according to custom, cast the
horoscope of the infant, but were seized with fear and trembling as
they regarded it. ”Allah Akbar! God is great!” exclaimed they; ”he
alone controls the fate of empires. It is written in the book of
fate that this child will one day sit upon the throne, but that the
downfall of the kingdom will be accomplished during his reign.” From
that time the prince had been regarded with aversion by his father,
and the prediction which hung over him and the persecutions to which
he became subjected procured him the surname of El Zogoybi, or the
Unfortunate. He grew up, however, under the protection of his
valiant-hearted mother, who by the energy of her character long
maintained an undisputed sway in the harem, until, as her youth
passed away and her beauty declined, a formidable rival arose.

In one of the forays of the Moorish chivalry into the Christian

territories they had surprised a frontier fortress commanded by

16
Sancho Ximenes de Solis, a noble and valiant cavalier, who fell in
bravely defending it. Among the captives was his daughter Isabella,
then almost in her infancy, who was brought to Granada, delicately
raised, and educated in the Moslem faith. Her Moorish captors gave
her the name of Fatima, but as she grew up her surpassing beauty
gained her the surname of Zoraya, or the Morning Star, by which she
has become known in history. Her charms at length attracted the
notice of Muley Abul Hassan, and she soon became a member of his
harem. Some have spoken of her as a Christian slave whom he had
made his concubine; but others, with more truth, represent her as
one of his wives, and ultimately his favorite sultana; and indeed it
was often the case that female captives of rank and beauty, when
converted to the faith of Islam, became united to the proudest and
loftiest of their captors.

Cronica del Gran Cardinal, cap. 71.

Zoraya soon acquired complete ascendancy over the mind of Muley Abul
Hassan. She was as ambitious as she was beautiful, and, having
become the mother of two sons, looked forward to the possibility of
one of them sitting on the throne of Granada. These ambitious views
were encouraged, if not suggested, by a faction which gathered round
her inspired by kindred sympathies. The king’s vizier, Abul Cacim
Vanegas, who had great influence over him, was, like Zoraya, of
Christian descent, being of the noble house of Luque. His father,
one of the Vanegas of Cordova, had been captured in infancy and
brought up as a Moslem. From him sprang the vizier, Abul Cacim
Vanegas, and his brother, Reduan Vanegas, likewise high in rank in
the court of Muley Abul Hassan, and they had about them numerous
and powerful connections, all basking in court favor. Though Moslems
in faith, they were all drawn to Zoraya by the tie of foreign and
Christian descent, and sought to elevate her and her children to the
disparagement of Ayxa la Horra and her son Boabdil. The latter, on
the other hand, were supported by the noble and once-potent family
of the Abencerrages and by Aben Comixa, alcayde of the Alhambra;
and between these two factions, headed by rival sultanas, the harem
of Muley Abul Hassan became the scene of inveterate jealousies and
intrigues, which in time, as will be shown, led to popular commotions
and civil wars.

Cura de los Palacios, Hist. de los Reyes Catol., cap. 56.

It is to be noted that several historians have erroneously

represented Zoraya as the mother of Boabdil, instead of Ayxa la
Horra, and the Abencerrages as the opponents of Boabdil, instead
of his strenuous adherents. The statement in the text is according
to the most reliable authorities.

While these female feuds were threatening Muley Abul Hassan with
trouble and disaster at home, his evil genius prompted him to an

17
enterprise which involved him in tenfold danger from abroad. The
reader has already been apprised of a singular clause in the truce
existing between the Christians and the Moors, permitting hasty
dashes into each other’s territories and assaults of towns and
fortresses, provided they were carried on as mere forays and without
the parade of regular warfare. A long time had elapsed, however,
without any incursion of the kind on the part of the Moors, and the
Christian towns on the frontiers had, in consequence, fallen into a
state of the most negligent security. In an unlucky moment Muley
Abul Hassan was tempted to one of these forays by learning that the
fortress of Zahara, on the frontier between Ronda and Medina
Sidonia, was but feebly garrisoned and scantily supplied, and that
its alcayde was careless of his charge. This important post was
built on the crest of a rocky mountain, with a strong castle perched
above it upon a cliff, so high that it was said to be above the flight
of birds or drift of clouds. The streets and many of the houses were
mere excavations wrought out of the living rock. The town had but
one gate, opening to the west and defended by towers and bulwarks.
The only ascent to this cragged fortress was by roads cut in the rock,
so rugged in many places as to resemble broken stairs. In a word,
the impregnable security of Zahara had become so proverbial throughout
Spain that a woman of forbidding and inaccessible virtue was called a
Zaharena. But the strongest fortress and sternest virtue have weak
points, and require unremitting vigilance to guard them: let warrior
and dame take warning from the fate of Zahara.

CHAPTER IV.

EXPEDITION OF MULEY ABUL HASSAN AGAINST THE FORTRESS

OF ZAHARA.

In the year of our Lord one thousand four hundred and eighty-
one, and but a night or two after the festival of the most blessed
Nativity, the inhabitants of Zahara were sunk in profound sleep
the very sentinel had deserted his post, and sought shelter from
a tempest which had raged for three nights in succession, for it
appeared but little probable that an enemy would be abroad during
such an uproar of the elements. But evil spirits work best during a
storm. In the midst of the night an uproar rose within the walls of
Zahara more awful than the raging of the storm. A fearful alarm-cry,
”The Moor! the Moor!” resounded through the streets, mingled with
the clash of arms, the shriek of anguish, and the shout of victory.
Muley Abul Hassan, at the head of a powerful force, had hurried from
Granada, and passed unobserved through the mountains in the
obscurity of the tempest. While the storm pelted the sentinel from
his post and bowled round tower and battlement, the Moors had

18
planted their scaling-ladders and mounted securely into both town
and castle. The garrison was unsuspicious of danger until battle
and massacre burst forth within its very walls. It seemed to the
affrighted inhabitants as if the fiends of the air had come upon the
wings of the wind and possessed themselves of tower and turret.
The war-cry resounded on every side, shout answering shout, above,
below, on the battlements of the castle, in the streets of the town;
the foe was in all parts, wrapped in obscurity, but acting in concert
by the aid of preconcerted signals. Starting from sleep, the soldiers
were intercepted and cut down as they rushed from their quarters,
or if they escaped they knew not where to assemble or where to
strike. Wherever lights appeared the flashing scimetar was at its
deadly work, and all who attempted resistance fell beneath its edge.

In a little while the struggle was at an end. Those who were not
slain took refuge in the secret places of their houses or gave
themselves up as captives. The clash of arms ceased, and the
storm continued its howling, mingled with the occasional shout of
the Moorish soldiery roaming in search of plunder. While the
inhabitants were trembling for their fate, a trumpet resounded
through the streets summoning them all to assemble, unarmed, in the
public square. Here they were surrounded by soldiery and strictly
guarded until daybreak. When the day dawned it was piteous to
behold this once-prosperous community, who had laid down to rest in
peaceful security, now crowded together without distinction of age
or rank or sex, and almost without raiment, during the severity of a
wintry storm. The fierce Muley Abul Hassan turned a deaf ear to all
their prayers and remonstrances, and ordered them to be conducted
captives to Granada. Leaving a strong garrison in both town and
castle, with orders to put them in a complete state of defence, he
returned, flushed with victory, to his capital, entering it at the
head of his troops, laden with spoil and bearing in triumph the
banners and pennons taken at Zahara.

While preparations were making for jousts and other festivities in

honor of this victory over the Christians, the captives of Zahara
arrived–a wretched train of men, women, and children, worn out
with fatigue and haggard with despair, and driven like cattle into
the city gates by a detachment of Moorish soldiery.

Deep was the grief and indignation of the people of Granada at

this cruel scene. Old men, who had experienced the calamities of
warfare, anticipated coming troubles. Mothers clasped their infants
to their breasts as they beheld the hapless females of Zahara with
their children expiring in their arms. On every side the accents of
pity for the sufferers were mingled with execrations of the barbarity
of the king. The preparations for festivity were neglected, and the
viands which were to have feasted the conquerors were distributed
among the captives.

19
 The nobles and alfaquis, however, repaired to the Alhambra to
congratulate the king; for, whatever storms may rage in the lower
regions of society, rarely do any clouds but clouds of incense rise
to the awful eminence of the throne. In this instance, however, a
voice rose from the midst of the obsequious crowd, and burst like
thunder upon the ears of Abul Hassan. ”Woe! woe! woe! to Granada!”
exclaimed the voice; ”its hour of desolation approaches. The ruins
of Zahara will fall upon our heads; my spirit tells me that the end
of our empire is at hand.” All shrank back aghast, and left the
denouncer of woe standing alone in the centre of the hall. He was
an ancient and hoary man in the rude attire of a dervise. Age had
withered his form without quenching the fire of his spirit, which
glared in baleful lustre from his eyes. He was (say the Arabian
historians) one of those holy men termed santons who pass their
lives in hermitages in fasting, meditation, and prayer until they
attain to the purity of saints and the foresight of prophets. ”He
was,” says the indignant Fray Antonio Agapida, ”a son of Belial, one
of those fanatic infidels possessed by the devil who are sometimes
permitted to predict the truth to their followers, but with the
proviso that their predictions shall be of no avail.”

The voice of the santon resounded through the lofty hall of the
Alhambra, and struck silence and awe into the crowd of courtly
sycophants. Muley Abul Hassan alone was unmoved: he eyed
the hoary anchorite with scorn as he stood dauntless before him,
and treated his predictions as the ravings of a maniac. The santon
rushed from the royal presence, and, descending into the city, hurried
through its streets and squares with frantic gesticulations. His voice
was heard in every part in awful denunciation: ”The peace is broken!
exterminating war is commenced. Woe! woe! woe to Granada! its fall
is at hand! desolation will dwell in its palaces; its strong men will fall
beneath the sword, its children and maidens be led into captivity.
Zahara is but a type of Granada!”

Terror seized upon the populace, for they considered these ravings
as the inspirations of prophecy. Some hid themselves in their
dwellings as in a time of general mourning, while some gathered
together in knots in the streets and squares, alarming each other
with dismal forebodings and cursing the rashness and cruelty of
the king.

The Moorish monarch heeded not their murmurs. Knowing that his
exploit must draw upon him the vengeance of the Christians, he now
threw off all reserve, and made attempts to surprise Castellan and
Elvira, though without success. He sent alfaquis also to the Barbary
powers, informing them that the sword was drawn, and inviting the
African princes to aid him with men and supplies in maintaining the
kingdom of Granada and the religion of Mahomet against the violence
of unbelievers.

20
 While discontent exhaled itself in murmurs among the common people,
however, it fomented in dangerous conspiracies among the nobles, and
Muley Abul Hassan was startled by information of a design to depose
him and place his son Boabdil upon the throne. His first measure was
to confine the prince and his mother in the Tower of Comares; then,
calling to mind the prediction of the astrologers, that the youth would
one day sit on the throne of Granada, he impiously set the stars at
defiance. ”The sword of the executioner,” said he, ”shall prove the
fallacy of those lying horoscopes, and shall silence the ambition of
Boabdil.”

The sultana Ayxa, apprised of the imminent danger of her son,

concerted a plan for his escape. At the dead of the night she
gained access to his prison, and, tying together the shawls and
scarfs of herself and her female attendants, lowered him down from
a balcony of the Alhambra to the steep rocky hillside which sweeps
down to the Darro. Here some of her devoted adherents were
waiting to receive him, who, mounting him on a swift horse, spirited
him away to the city of Guadix, in the Alpuxarras.

CHAPTER V.

EXPEDITION OF THE MARQUES OF CADIZ AGAINST ALHAMA.

Great was the indignation of King Ferdinand when he heard of the

storming of Zahara, though the outrage of the Moor happened most
opportunely. The war between Castile and Portugal had come to a
close; the factions of Spanish nobles were for the most part quelled.
The Castilian monarchs had now, therefore, turned their thoughts
to the cherished object of their ambition, the conquest of Granada.
The pious heart of Isabella yearned to behold the entire Peninsula
redeemed from the domination of the infidel, while Ferdinand, in
whom religious zeal was mingled with temporal policy, looked with
a craving eye to the rich territory of the Moor, studded with wealthy
towns and cities. Muley Abul Hassan had rashly or unwarily thrown
the brand that was to produce the wide conflagration. Ferdinand was
not the one to quench the flames. He immediately issued orders to
all the adelantados and alcaydes of the frontiers to maintain the
utmost vigilance at their several posts, and to prepare to carry fire
and sword into the territories of the Moors.

Among the many valiant cavaliers who rallied round the throne of
Ferdinand and Isabella, one of the most eminent in rank and renowned
in arms was Don Roderigo Ponce de Leon, marques of Cadiz. As he
was the distinguished champion of this holy war, and commanded in
most of its enterprises and battles, it is meet that some particular

21
account should be given of him. He was born in 1443 of the valiant
lineage of the Ponces, and from his earliest youth had rendered
himself illustrious in the field. He was of the middle stature, with a
muscular and powerful frame, capable of great exertion and fatigue.
His hair and beard were red and curled, his countenance was open and
magnanimous, of a ruddy complexion and slightly marked with the small-
pox. He was temperate, chaste, valiant, vigilant; a just and generous
master to his vassals; frank and noble in his deportment toward his
equals; loving and faithful to his friends; fierce and terrible, yet
magnanimous, to his enemies. He was considered the mirror of
chivalry of his times, and compared by contemporary historians to
the immortal Cid.

The marques of Cadiz had vast possessions in the most fertile parts
of Andalusia, including many towns and castles, and could lead forth
an army into the field from his own vassals and dependants. On
receiving the orders of the king he burned to signalize himself by
some sudden incursion into the kingdom of Granada that should give a
brilliant commencement to the war, and should console the sovereigns
for the insult they had received in the capture of Zahara. As his
estates lay near to the Moorish frontiers and were subject to sudden
inroads, he had always in his pay numbers of adalides, or scouts and
guides, many of them converted Moors. These he sent out in all
directions to watch the movements of the enemy and to procure all
kinds of information important to the security of the frontier. One
of these spies came to him one day in his town of Marchena, and
informed him that the Moorish town of Alhama was slightly garrisoned
and negligently guarded, and might be taken by surprise. This was a
large, wealthy, and populous place within a few leagues of Granada.
It was situated on a rocky height, nearly surrounded by a river, and
defended by a fortress to which there was no access but by a steep
and cragged ascent. The strength of its situation and its being
embosomed in the centre of the kingdom had produced the careless
security which now invited attack.

To ascertain fully the state of the fortress the marques despatched

secretly a veteran soldier who was highly in his confidence. His
name was Ortega de Prado, a man of great activity, shrewdness,
and valor, and captain of escaladors (soldiers employed to scale the
walls of fortresses in time of attack). Ortega approached Alhama
one moonless night, and paced along its walls with noiseless step,
laying his ear occasionally to the ground or to the wall. Every time
he distinguished the measured tread of a sentinel, and now and
then the challenge of the night-watch going its rounds. Finding the
town thus guarded, he clambered to the castle: there all was silent.
As he ranged its lofty battlements between him and the sky he saw
no sentinel on duty. He noticed certain places where the wall might
be ascended by scaling-ladders, and, having marked the hour of
relieving guard and made all necessary observations, he retired
without being discovered.

22
 Ortega returned to Marchena, and assured the marques of Cadiz of
the practicability of scaling the castle of Alhama and taking it by
surprise. The marques had a secret conference with Don Pedro
Enriques, adelantado of Andalusia, Don Diego de Merlo, commander
of Seville, Sancho de Avila, alcayde of Carmona, and others, who
all agreed to aid him with their forces. On an appointed day the
several commanders assembled at Marchena with their troops and
retainers. None but the leaders knew the object or destination of
the enterprise, but it was enough to rouse the Andalusian spirit to
know that a foray was intended into the country of their old
enemies, the Moors. Secrecy and celerity were necessary for
success. They set out promptly with three thousand genetes or light
cavalry and four thousand infantry. They chose a route but little
travelled, by the way of Antiquera, passing with great labor through
rugged and solitary defiles of the sierra or chain of mountains of
Arrecife, and left all their baggage on the banks of the river Yeguas,
to be brought after them. This march was principally in the night;
all day they remained quiet; no noise was suffered in their camp,
and no fires were made, lest the smoke should betray them. On
the third day they resumed their march as the evening darkened,
and, forcing themselves forward at as quick a pace as the rugged
and dangerous mountain-roads would permit, they descended toward
midnight into a small deep valley only half a league from Alhama.
Here they made a halt, fatigued by this forced march, during a long
dark evening toward the end of February.

The marques of Cadiz now explained to the troops the object of

the expedition. He told them it was for the glory of the most holy
faith and to avenge the wrongs of their countrymen at Zahara, and
that the town of Alhama, full of wealthy spoil, was the place to be
attacked. The troops were roused to new ardor by these words,
and desired to be led forthwith to the assault. They arrived close to
Alhama about two hours before daybreak. Here the army remained in
ambush, while three hundred men were despatched to scale the walls
and get possession of the castle. They were picked men, many of
them alcaydes and officers, men who preferred death to dishonor.
This gallant band was guided by the escalador Ortega de Prado at the
head of thirty men with scaling-ladders. They clambered the ascent
to the castle in silence, and arrived under the dark shadow of its
towers without being discovered. Not a light was to be seen, not a
sound to be heard; the whole place was wrapped in profound repose.

Fixing their ladders, they ascended cautiously and with noiseless

steps. Ortega was the first that mounted upon the battlements,
followed by one Martin Galindo, a youthful esquire full of spirit
and eager for distinction. Moving stealthily along the parapet to
the portal of the citadel, they came upon the sentinel by surprise.
Ortega seized him by the throat, brandished a dagger before his
eyes, and ordered him to point the way to the guard-room. The

23
infidel obeyed, and was instantly despatched, to prevent his giving
an alarm. The guard-room was a scene rather of massacre than
combat. Some of the soldiery were killed while sleeping, others
were cut down almost without resistance, bewildered by so unexpected
an assault: all were despatched, for the scaling party was too small
to make prisoners or to spare. The alarm spread throughout the
castle, but by this time the three hundred picked men had mounted
the battlements. The garrison, startled from sleep, found the enemy
already masters of the towers. Some of the Moors were cut down at
once, others fought desperately from room to room, and the whole
castle resounded with the clash of arms, the cries of the combatants,
and the groans of the wounded. The army in ambush, finding by
the uproar that the castle was surprised, now rushed from their
concealment, and approached the walls with loud shouts and sound
of kettle-drums and trumpets to increase the confusion and dismay
of the garrison. A violent conflict took place in the court of the
castle, where several of the scaling party sought to throw open
the gates to admit their countrymen. Here fell two valiant alcaydes,
Nicholas de Roja and Sancho de Avila, but they fell honorably, upon
a heap of slain. At length Ortega de Prado succeeded in throwing
open a postern through which the marques of Cadiz, the adelantado
of Andalusia, and Don Diego de Merlo entered with a host of followers,
and the citadel remained in full possession of the Christians.

As the Spanish cavaliers were ranging from room to room, the marques
of Cadiz, entering an apartment of superior richness to the rest,
beheld, by the light of a silver lamp, a beautiful Moorish female,
the wife of the alcayde of the castle, whose husband was absent
attending a wedding-feast at Velez Malaga. She would have fled at
the sight of a Christian warrior in her apartment, but, entangled in
the covering of the bed, she fell at the feet of the marques, imploring
mercy. That Christian cavalier, who had a soul full of honor and
courtesy toward the sex, raised her from the floor and endeavored
to allay her fears; but they were increased at the sight of her female
attendants pursued into the room by the Spanish soldiery. The
marques reproached his soldiers with unmanly conduct, and reminded
them that they made war upon men, not on defenceless women.
Having soothed the terrors of the females by the promise of honorable
protection, he appointed a trusty guard to watch over the security of
their apartment.

The castle was now taken, but the town below it was in arms. It was
broad day, and the people, recovered from their panic, were enabled
to see and estimate the force of the enemy. The inhabitants were
chiefly merchants and tradespeople, but the Moors all possessed a
knowledge of the use of weapons and were of brave and warlike
spirit. They confided in the strength of their walls and the certainty
of speedy relief from Granada, which was but about eight leagues
distant. Manning the battlements and towers, they discharged
showers of stones and arrows whenever the part of the Christian

24
army without the walls attempted to approach. They barricadoed
the entrances of their streets also which opened toward the castle,
stationing men expert at the crossbow and arquebuse. These kept
up a constant fire upon the gate of the castle, so that no one could
sally forth without being instantly shot down. Two valiant cavaliers
who attempted to lead forth a party in defiance of this fatal tempest
were shot dead at the very portal.

The Christians now found themselves in a situation of great peril.

Reinforcements must soon arrive to the enemy from Granada: unless,
therefore, they gained possession of the town in the course of the
day, they were likely to be surrounded and beleaguered, without
provisions, in the castle. Some observed that even if they took the
town they should not be able to maintain possession of it. They
proposed, therefore, to make booty of everything valuable, to sack
the castle, set it on fire, and make good their retreat to Seville.

The marques of Cadiz was of different counsel. ”God has given the
citadel into Christian hands,” said he; ”he will no doubt strengthen
them to maintain it. We have gained the place with difficulty and
bloodshed; it would be a stain upon our honor to abandon it through
fear of imaginary dangers.” The adelantado and Don Diego de
Merlo joined in his opinion, but without their earnest and united
remonstrances the place would have been abandoned, so exhausted
were the troops by forced marches and hard fighting, and so
apprehensive of the approach of the Moors of Granada.

The strength and spirits of the party within the castle were in some
degree restored by the provisions which they found. The Christian
army beneath the town, being also refreshed by a morning’s repast,
advanced vigorously to the attack of the walls. They planted their
scaling-ladders, and, swarming up, sword in hand, fought fiercely
with the Moorish soldiery upon the ramparts.

In the mean time, the marques of Cadiz, seeing that the gate of the
castle, which opened toward the city, was completely commanded by
the artillery of the enemy, ordered a large breach to be made in the
wall, through which he might lead his troops to the attack, animating
them in this perilous moment by assuring them that the place should
be given up to plunder and its inhabitants made captives.

The breach being made, the marques put himself at the head of his
troops, and entered sword in hand. A simultaneous attack was make
by the Christians in every part–by the ramparts, by the gate, by
the roofs and walls which connected the castle with the town. The
Moors fought valiantly in their streets, from their windows, and from
the tops of their houses. They were not equal to the Christians in
bodily strength, for they were for the most part peaceful men, of
industrious callings, and enervated by the frequent use of the warm
bath; but they were superior in number and unconquerable in spirit;

25
old and young, strong and weak, fought with the same desperation.
The Moors fought for property, for liberty, for life. They fought at
their thresholds and their hearths, with the shrieks of their wives
and children ringing in their ears, and they fought in the hope that
each moment would bring aid from Granada. They regarded neither
their own wounds nor the death of their companions, but continued
fighting until they fell, and seemed as if, when they could no longer
contend, they would block up the thresholds of their beloved homes
with their mangled bodies. The Christians fought for glory, for
revenge, for the holy faith, and for the spoil of these wealthy
infidels. Success would place a rich town at their mercy; failure
would deliver them into the hands of the tyrant of Granada.

The contest raged from morning until night, when the Moors began
to yield. Retreating to a large mosque near the walls, they kept up
so galling a fire from it with lances, crossbows, and arquebuses
that for some time the Christians dared not approach. Covering
themselves, at length, with bucklers and mantelets to protect them
from the deadly shower, the latter made their way to the mosque and
set fire to the doors. When the smoke and flames rolled in upon
them the Moors gave up all as lost. Many rushed forth desperately
upon the enemy, but were immediately slain; the rest surrendered
themselves captives.

Mantelet–a movable parapet, made of thick planks, to protect

troops when advancing to sap or assault a walled place.

The struggle was now at an end: the town remained at the mercy of
the Christians; and the inhabitants, both male and female, became
the slaves of those who made them prisoners. Some few escaped
by a mine or subterranean way which led to the river, and concealed
themselves, their wives and children, in caves and secret places,
but in three or four days were compelled to surrender themselves
through hunger.

The town was given up to plunder, and the booty was immense.
There were found prodigious quantities of gold and silver, and
jewels and rich silks and costly stuffs of all kinds, together with
horses and beeves, and abundance of grain and oil and honey,
and all other productions of this fruitful kingdom; for in Alhama
were collected the royal rents and tributes of the surrounding
country: it was the richest town in the Moorish territory, and from
its great strength and its peculiar situation was called the key to
Granada.

Great waste and devastation were committed by the Spanish soldiery;

for, thinking it would be impossible to keep possession of the place,
they began to destroy whatever they could not take away. Immense
jars of oil were broken, costly furniture shattered to pieces, and
magazines of grain broken open and their contents scattered to the

26
winds. Many Christian captives who had been taken at Zahara were
found buried in a Moorish dungeon, and were triumphantly restored to
light and liberty; and a renegado Spaniard, who had often served as
guide to the Moors in their incursions into the Christian territories,
was hanged on the highest part of the battlements for the edification
of the army.

CHAPTER VI.

HOW THE PEOPLE OF GRANADA WERE AFFECTED ON HEARING

OF THE CAPTURE OF ALHAMA, AND HOW THE MOORISH KING
SALLIED FORTH TO REGAIN IT.

A moorish horseman had spurred across the Vega, nor reined his
panting steed until he alighted at the gate of the Alhambra. He
brought tidings to Muley Abul Hassan of the attack upon Alhama.
”The Christians,” said he, ”are in the land. They came upon us, we
know not whence or how, and scaled the walls of the castle in the
night. There have been dreadful fighting and carnage in its towers
and courts; and when I spurred my steed from the gate of Alhama
the castle was in possession of the unbelievers.”

Muley Abul Hassan felt for a moment as if swift retribution had come
upon him for the woes he had inflicted upon Zahara. Still, he
flattered himself that this had only been some transient inroad of
a party of marauders intent upon plunder, and that a little succor
thrown into the town would be sufficient to expel them from the
castle and drive them from the land. He ordered out, therefore, a
thousand of his chosen cavalry, and sent them in all speed to the
assistance of Alhama. They arrived before its walls the morning
after its capture: the Christian standards floated upon its towers,
and a body of cavalry poured forth from its gates and came wheeling
down into the plain to receive them.

The Moorish horsemen turned the reins of their steeds and galloped
back for Granada. They entered its gates in tumultuous confusion,
spreading terror and lamentation by their tidings. ”Alhama is fallen!
Alhama is fallen!” exclaimed they; ”the Christians garrison its walls;
the key of Granada is in the hands of the enemy!”

When the people heard these words they remembered the denunciation
of the santon. His prediction seemed still to resound in every ear,
and its fulfilment to be at hand. Nothing was heard throughout the
city but sighs and wailings. ”Woe is me, Alhama!” was in every
mouth; and this ejaculation of deep sorrow and doleful foreboding
came to be the burden of a plaintive ballad which remains until the

27
present day.

The mournful little Spanish romance of ”Ay de mi Alhama!” is

supposed to be of Moorish origin, and to embody the grief of
the people of Granada on this occasion.

Many aged men, who had taken refuge in Granada from other Moorish
dominions which had fallen into the power of the Christians, now
groaned in despair at the thoughts that war was to follow them into
this last retreat, to lay waste this pleasant land, and to bring trouble
and sorrow upon their declining years. The women were more loud
and vehement in their grief, for they beheld the evils impending over
their children, and what can restrain the agony of a mother’s heart?
Many of them made their way through the halls of the Alhambra into
the presence of the king, weeping, and wailing, and tearing their
hair. ”Accursed be the day,” cried they, ”that thou hast lit the flame
of war in our land! May the holy Prophet bear witness before Allah
that we and our children are innocent of this act! Upon thy head,
and upon the heads of thy posterity, until the end of the world, rest
the sin of the desolation of Zahara!

Garibay, lib. 40, c. 29.

Muley Abul Hassan remained unmoved amidst all this storm; his heart
was hardened (observes Fray Antonio Agapida) like that of Pharaoh,
to the end that through his blind violence and rage he might produce
the deliverance of the land from its heathen bondage. In fact, he
was a bold and fearless warrior, and trusted soon to make this blow
recoil upon the head of the enemy. He had ascertained that the
captors of Alhama were but a handful: they were in the centre of
his dominions, within a short distance of his capital. They were
deficient in munitions of war and provisions for sustaining a siege.
By a rapid movement he might surround them with a powerful army,
cut off all aid from their countrymen, and entrap them in the fortress
they had taken.

To think was to act with Muley Abul Hassan, but he was prone to act
with too much precipitation. He immediately set forth in person with
three thousand horse and fifty thousand foot, and in his eagerness
to arrive at the scene of action would not wait to provide artillery
and the various engines required in a siege. ”The multitude of my
forces,” said he, confidently, ”will be sufficient to overwhelm the
enemy.”

The marques of Cadiz, who thus held possession of Alhama, had

a chosen friend and faithful companion-in-arms, among the most
distinguished of the Christian chivalry. This was Don Alonso de
Cordova, senior and lord of the house of Aguilar, and brother of
Gonsalvo of Cordova, afterward renowned as grand captain of Spain.
As yet, Alonso de Aguilar was the glory of his name and race, for

28
his brother was but young in arms. He was one of the most hardy,
valiant, and enterprising of the Spanish knights, and foremost in
all service of a perilous and adventurous nature. He had not been
at hand to accompany his friend Ponce de Leon, marques of Cadiz,
in his inroad into the Moorish territory, but he hastily assembled a
number of retainers, horse and foot, and pressed forward to join
the enterprise. Arriving at the river Yeguas, he found the baggage
of the army still upon its banks, and took charge of it to carry it to
Alhama. The marques of Cadiz heard of the approach of his friend,
whose march was slow in consequence of being encumbered by the
baggage. He was within but a few leagues of Alhama when scouts
came hurrying into the place with intelligence that the Moorish king
was at hand with a powerful army. The marques of Cadiz was filled
with alarm lest De Aguilar should fall into the hands of the enemy.
Forgetting his own danger and thinking only of that of his friend,
he despatched a well-mounted messenger to ride full speed and
warn him not to approach.

The first determination of Alonso de Aguilar when he heard that the

Moorish king was at hand was to take a strong position in the
mountains and await his coming. The madness of an attempt with his
handful of men to oppose an immense army was represented to him
with such force as to induce him to abandon the idea; he then thought
of throwing himself into Alhama to share the fortunes of his friend;
but it was now too late. The Moor would infallibly intercept him,
and he should only give the marques the additional distress of
beholding him captured beneath his walls. It was even urged upon
him that he had no time for delay if he would consult his own safety,
which could only be ensured by an immediate retreat into the
Christian territory. This last opinion was confirmed by the return
of scouts, who brought information that Muley Abul Hassan had
received notice of his movements, and was rapidly advancing in quest
of him. It was with infinite reluctance that Don Alonso de Aguilar
yielded to these united and powerful reasons. Proudly and sullenly
he drew off his forces, laden with the baggage of the army, and made
an unwilling retreat toward Antiquera. Muley Abul Hassan pursued
him for some distance through the mountains, but soon gave up the
chase and turned with his forces upon Alhama.

As the army approached the town they beheld the fields strewn
with the dead bodies of their countrymen, who had fallen in defence
of the place, and had been cast forth and left unburied by the
Christians. There they lay, mangled and exposed to every indignity,
while droves of half-famished dogs were preying upon them and
fighting and howling over their hideous repast. Furious at the
sight, the Moors, in the first transports of their rage, attacked
those ravenous animals: their next measure was to vent their fury
upon the Christians. They rushed like madmen to the walls, applied
scaling-ladders in all parts without waiting for the necessary
mantelets and other protections– thinking by attacking suddenly

29
and at various points to distract the enemy and overcome them by
the force of numbers.

Pulgar, Cronica.

The marques of Cadiz, with his confederate commanders, distributed

themselves along the walls to direct and animate their men in the
defence. The Moors in their blind fury often assailed the most
difficult and dangerous places. Darts, stones, and all kinds of
missiles were hurled down upon their defenceless heads. As fast
as they mounted they were cut down or dashed from the battlements,
their ladders overturned, and all who were on them precipitated
headlong below.

Muley Abul Hassan stormed with passion at the sight: he sent

detachment after detachment to scale the walls, but in vain; they
were like waves rushing upon a rock, only to dash themselves to
pieces. The Moors lay in heaps beneath the wall, and among them
many of the bravest cavaliers of Granada. The Christians also
sallied frequently from the gates, and made great havoc in the
irregular multitude of assailants.

Muley Abul Hassan now became sensible of his error in hurrying from
Granada without the proper engines for a siege. Destitute of all
means to batter the fortifications, the town remained uninjured,
defying the mighty army which raged and roamed before it. Incensed
at being thus foiled, Muley Abul Hassan gave orders to undermine the
walls. The Moors advanced with shouts to the attempt. They were
received with a deadly fire from the ramparts, which drove them from
their works. Repeatedly were they repulsed, and repeatedly did they
return to the charge. The Christians not merely galled them from
the battlements, but issued forth and cut them down in the
excavations they were attempting to form. The contest lasted
throughout a whole day, and by evening two thousand Moors were
either killed or wounded.

Muley Abul Hassan now abandoned all hope of carrying the place
by assault, and attempted to distress it into terms by turning the
channel of the river which runs by its walls. On this stream the
inhabitants depended for their supply of water, the place being
destitute of fountains and cisterns, from which circumstance it is
called Alhama ”la seca,” or ”the dry.”

A desperate conflict ensued on the banks of the river, the Moors

endeavoring to plant palisades in its bed to divert the stream, and
the Christians striving to prevent them. The Spanish commanders
exposed themselves to the utmost danger to animate their men, who
were repeatedly driven back into the town. The marques of Cadiz was
often up to his knees in the stream fighting hand to hand with the
Moors. The water ran red with blood, and was encumbered with dead

30
bodies. At length the overwhelming numbers of the Moors gave them
the advantage, and they succeeded in diverting the greater part of
the water. The Christians had to struggle severely to supply
themselves from the feeble rill which remained. They sallied to the
river by a subterraneous passage, but the Moorish crossbowmen
stationed themselves on the opposite bank, keeping up a heavy fire
upon the Christians whenever they attempted to fill their vessels
from the scanty and turbid stream. One party of the Christians had,
therefore, to fight while another drew water. At all hours of the
day and night this deadly strife was maintained, until it seemed as
if every drop of water were purchased with a drop of blood.

In the mean time the sufferings of the town became intense. None
but the soldiery and their horses were allowed the precious beverage
so dearly earned, and even that in quantities that only tantalized
their wants. The wounded, who could not sally to procure it, were
almost destitute, while the unhappy prisoners shut up in the mosques
were reduced to frightful extremities. Many perished raving mad,
fancying themselves swimming in boundless seas, yet unable to
assuage their thirst. Many of the soldiers lay parched and panting
along the battlements, no longer able to draw a bowstring or hurl
a stone; while above five thousand Moors, stationed upon a rocky
height which overlooked part of the town, kept up a galling fire
into it with slings and crossbows, so that the marques of Cadiz was
obliged to heighten the battlements by using the doors from the
private dwellings.

The Christian cavaliers, exposed to this extreme peril and in

imminent danger of falling into the hands of the enemy, despatched
fleet messengers to Seville and Cordova, entreating the chivalry of
Andalusia to hasten to their aid. They sent likewise, imploring
assistance from the king and queen, who at that time held their
court in Medina del Campo. In the midst of their distress a tank or
cistern of water was fortunately discovered in the city, which gave
temporary relief to their sufferings.

CHAPTER VII.

HOW THE DUKE OF MEDINA SIDONIA AND THE CHIVALRY OF

ANDALUSIA HASTENED TO THE RELIEF OF ALHAMA.

The perilous situation of the Christian cavaliers, pent up and

beleaguered within the walls of the Alhama, spread terror among
their friends and anxiety throughout all Andalusia. Nothing,
however, could equal the anguish of the marchioness of Cadiz, the
wife of the gallant Roderigo Ponce de Leon. In her deep distress she

31
looked round for some powerful noble who had the means of rousing
the country to the assistance of her husband. No one appeared more
competent for the purpose than Don Juan de Guzman, the duke of
Medina Sidonia. He was one of the most wealthy and puissant grandees
of Spain; his possessions extended over some of the most fertile
parts of Andalusia, embracing towns and seaports and numerous
villages. Here he reigned in feudal state like a petty sovereign,
and could at any time bring into the field an immense force of
vassals and retainers.

The duke of Medina Sidonia and the marques of Cadiz, however, were
at this time deadly foes. An hereditary feud existed between them,
which had often risen to bloodshed and open war; for as yet the
fierce contests between the proud and puissant Spanish nobles had
not been completely quelled by the power of the Crown, and in this
respect they exerted a right of sovereignty in leading their vassals
against each other in open field.

The duke of Medina Sidonia would have appeared, to many, the very
last person to whom to apply for aid of the marques of Cadiz; but
the marchioness judged of him by the standard of her own high
and generous mind. She knew him to be a gallant and courteous
knight, and had already experienced the magnanimity of his spirit,
having been relieved by him when besieged by the Moors in her
husband’s fortress of Arcos. To the duke, therefore, she applied in
this moment of sudden calamity, imploring him to furnish succor to
her husband. The event showed how well noble spirits understand
each other. No sooner did the duke receive this appeal from the wife
of his enemy than he generously forgot all feeling of animosity and
determined to go in person to his succor. He immediately despatched
a courteous letter to the marchioness, assuring her that in
consideration of the request of so honorable and estimable a lady,
and to rescue from peril so valiant a cavalier as her husband, whose
loss would be great, not only to Spain, but to all Christendom, he
would forego the recollection of all past grievances, and hasten to
his relief with all the forces he could raise.

The duke wrote at the same time to the alcaydes of his towns and
fortresses, ordering them to join him forthwith at Seville with all
the forces they could spare from their garrisons. He called on all
the chivalry of Andalusia to make a common cause in the rescue of
those Christian cavaliers, and he offered large pay to all volunteers
who would resort to him with horses, armor, and provisions. Thus
all who could be incited by honor, religion, patriotism, or thirst of
gain were induced to hasten to his standard, and he took the field
with an army of five thousand horse and fifty thousand foot. Many
cavaliers of distinguished name accompanied him in this generous
enterprise. Among these was the redoubtable Alonso de Aguilar,
the chosen friend of the marques of Cadiz, and with him his younger
brother, Gonsalvo Fernandez de Cordova, afterward renowned as

32
the grand captain; Don Roderigo Giron also, master of the order of
Calatrava, together with Martin Alonso de Montemayor and the
marques de Villena, esteemed the best lance in Spain. It was a
gallant and splendid army, comprising the flower of Spanish chivalry,
and poured forth in brilliant array from the gates of Seville bearing
the great standard of that ancient and renowned city.

Cronica de los Duques de Medina Sidonia, por Pedro de Medina, MS.

Ferdinand and Isabella were at Medina del Campo when tidings came
of the capture of Alhama. The king was at mass when he received the
news, and ordered ”Te Deum” to be chanted for this signal triumph
of the holy faith. When the first flush of triumph had subsided, and
the king learnt the imminent peril of the valorous Ponce de Leon and
his companions, and the great danger that this stronghold might
again be wrested from their grasp, he resolved to hurry in person to
the scene of action. So pressing appeared to him the emergency that
he barely gave himself time to take a hasty repast while horses were
providing, and then departed at furious speed for Andalusia, leaving
a request for the queen to follow him. He was attended by Don
Beltram de la Cueva, duke of Albuquerque, Don Inigo Lopez de
Mendoza, count of Tendilla, and Don Pedro Mauriques, count of
Trevino, with a few more cavaliers of prowess and distinction. He
travelled by forced journeys, frequently changing his jaded horses,
being eager to arrive in time to take command of the Andalusian
chivalry. When he arrived within five leagues of Cordova the duke of
Albuquerque remonstrated with him upon entering with such incautious
haste into the enemies’ country. He represented to him that there
were troops enough assembled to succor Alhama, and that it was
not for him to venture his royal person in doing what could be done
by his subjects, especially as he had such valiant and experienced
captains to act for him. ”Besides, sire,” added the duke, ”Your
Majesty should bethink you that the troops about to take the
field are mere men of Andalusia, whereas your illustrious
predecessors never made an inroad into the territory of the Moors
without being accompanied by a powerful force of the stanch and
iron warriors of Old Castile.”

Illescas, Hist. Pontifical.

”Duke,” replied the king, ”your counsel might have been good had I
not departed from Medina with the avowed determination of succoring
these cavaliers in person. I am now near the end of my journey, and
it would be beneath my dignity to change my intention before even I
had met with an impediment. I shall take the troops of this country
who are assembled, without waiting for those of Castile, and with
the aid of God shall prosecute my journey.”

Pulgar, Cronica, p. 3, cap. 3.

33
 As King Ferdinand approached Cordova the principal inhabitants came
forth to receive him. Learning, however, that the duke of Medina
Sidonia was already on the march and pressing forward into the
territory of the Moors, the king was all on fire to overtake him and
to lead in person the succor to Alhama. Without entering Cordova,
therefore, he exchanged his weary horses for those of the inhabitants
who had come forth to meet him, and pressed forward for the army.
He despatched fleet couriers in advance, requesting the duke of
Medina Sidonia to await his coming, that he might take command of
the forces.

Neither the duke nor his companions-in-arms, however, felt inclined

to pause in their generous expedition and gratify the inclinations
of the king. They sent back missives representing that they were far
within the enemies’ frontier, and it was dangerous either to pause
or turn back. They had likewise received pressing entreaties from
the besieged to hasten their speed, setting forth their great
sufferings and their hourly peril of being overwhelmed by the enemy.

The king was at Ponton del Maestre when he received these missives.
So inflamed was he with zeal for the success of this enterprise that
he would have penetrated into the kingdom of Granada with the
handful of cavaliers who accompanied him, but they represented the
rashness of such a journey through the mountainous defiles of a
hostile country thickly beset with towns and castles. With some
difficulty, therefore, he was dissuaded from his inclination, and
prevailed upon to await tidings from the army in the frontier city
of Antiquera.

CHAPTER VIII.

SEQUEL OF THE EVENTS AT ALHAMA.

While all Andalusia was thus in arms and pouring its chivalry
through the mountain-passes of the Moorish frontiers, the garrison
of Alhama was reduced to great extremity and in danger of sinking
under its sufferings before the promised succor could arrive. The
intolerable thirst that prevailed in consequence of the scarcity of
water, the incessant watch that had to be maintained over the vast
force of enemies without and the great number of prisoners within,
and the wounds which almost every soldier had received in the
incessant skirmishes and assaults, had worn grievously both flesh
and spirit. The noble Ponce de Leon, marques of Cadiz, still animated
the soldiery, however, by word and example, sharing every hardship
and being foremost in every danger, exemplifying that a good
commander is the vital spirit of an army.

34
 When Muley Abul Hassan heard of the vast force that was approaching
under the command of the duke of Medina Sidonia, and that Ferdinand
was coming in person with additional troops, he perceived that no
time was to be lost: Alhama must be carried by one powerful attack
or abandoned entirely to the Christians.

A number of Moorish cavaliers, some of the bravest youth of Granada,

knowing the wishes of the king, proposed to undertake a desperate
enterprise which, if successful, must put Alhama in his power. Early
one morning, when it was scarcely the gray of the dawn, about the
time of changing the watch, these cavaliers approached the town at
a place considered inaccessible from the steepness of the rocks on
which the wall was founded, which, it was supposed, elevated the
battlements beyond the reach of the longest scaling-ladder. The
Moorish knights, aided by a number of the strongest and most active
escaladors, mounted these rocks and applied the ladders without
being discovered, for to divert attention from them Muley Abul
Hassan made a false attack upon the town in another quarter.

The scaling party mounted with difficulty and in small numbers; the
sentinel was killed at his post, and seventy of the Moors made their
way into the streets before an alarm was given. The guards rushed
to the walls to stop the hostile throng that was still pouring in. A
sharp conflict, hand to hand and man to man, took place on the
battlements, and many on both sides fell. The Moors, whether
wounded or slain, were thrown headlong without the walls, the
scaling-ladders were overturned, and those who were mounting were
dashed upon the rocks, and from thence tumbled upon the plain. Thus
in a little while the ramparts were cleared by Christian prowess,
led on by that valiant knight Don Alonzo Ponce, the uncle, and that
brave esquire Pedro Pineda, nephew, of the marques of Cadiz.

The walls being cleared, these two kindred cavaliers now hastened
with their forces in pursuit of the seventy Moors who had gained an
entrance into the town. The main party of the garrison being engaged
at a distance resisting the feigned attack of the Moorish king, this
fierce band of infidels had ranged the streets almost without
opposition, and were making their way to the gates to throw them
open to the army. They were chosen men from among the Moorish
forces, several of them gallant knights of the proudest families of
Granada. Their footsteps through the city were in a manner printed
in blood, and they were tracked by the bodies of those they had
killed and wounded. They had attained the gate; most of the guard
had fallen beneath their scimetars; a moment more and Alhama would
have been thrown open to the enemy.

Zurita, lib. 20, c. 43.

Just at this juncture Don Alonzo Ponce and Pedro de Pineda reached

35
the spot with their forces. The Moors had the enemy in front and
rear; they placed themselves back to back, with their banner in
the centre. In this way they fought with desperate and deadly
determination, making a rampart around them with the slain. More
Christian troops arrived and hemmed them in, but still they fought,
without asking for quarter. As their number decreased they serried
their circle still closer, defending their banner from assault, and the
last Moor died at his post grasping the standard of the Prophet.
This standard was displayed from the walls, and the turbaned heads
of the Moors were thrown down to the besiegers.

Pedro de Pineda received the honor of knighthood from the hand

of King Ferdinand for his valor on this occasion (Alonzo Ponce was
already knight.)–See Zuniga, Annales of Seville, lib. 12, an. 1482.

Muley Abul Hassan tore his beard with rage at the failure of this
attempt and at the death of so many of his chosen cavaliers. He
saw that all further effort was in vain; his scouts brought word that
they had seen from the heights the long columns and flaunting
banners of the Christian army approaching through the mountains.
To linger would be to place himself between two bodies of the enemy.
Breaking up his camp, therefore, in all haste, he gave up the siege
of Alhama and hastened back to Granada; and the last clash of his
cymbals scarce died upon the ear from the distant hills before the
standard of the Duke of Medina Sidonia was seen emerging in another
direction from the defiles of the mountains.

When the Christians in Alhama beheld their enemies retreating on one

side and their friends advancing on the other, they uttered shouts
of joy and hymns of thanksgiving, for it was as a sudden relief from
present death. Harassed by several weeks of incessant vigil and
fighting, suffering from scarcity of provisions and almost continual
thirst, they resembled skeletons rather than living men. It was
a noble and gracious spectacle–the meeting of those hitherto
inveterate foes, the duke of Medina Sidonia and the marques of
Cadiz. At sight of his magnanimous deliverer the marques melted
into tears: all past animosities only gave the greater poignancy to
present feelings of gratitude and admiration. The late deadly rivals
clasped each other in their arms, and from that time forward were
true and cordial friends.

While this generous scene took place between the commanders a sordid
contest arose among their troops. The soldiers who had come to the
rescue claimed a portion of the spoils of Alhama, and so violent was
the dispute that both parties seized their arms. The duke of Medina
Sidonia interfered, and settled the question with his characteristic
magnanimity. He declared that the spoil belonged to those who
had captured the city. ”We have taken the field,” said he, ”only for
honor, for religion, and for the rescue of our countrymen and
fellow-Christians, and the success of our enterprise is a sufficient

36
and a glorious reward. If we desire booty, there are sufficient
Moorish cities yet to be taken to enrich us all.” The soldiers were
convinced by the frank and chivalrous reasoning of the duke; they
replied to his speech by acclamations, and the transient broil was
happily appeased.

The marchioness of Cadiz, with the forethought of a loving wife, had

despatched her major-domo with the army with a large supply of
provisions. Tables were immediately spread beneath the tents, where
the marques gave a banquet to the duke and the cavaliers who had
accompanied him, and nothing but hilarity prevailed in this late
scene of suffering and death.

A garrison of fresh troops was left in Alhama, and the veterans who
had so valiantly captured and maintained it returned to their homes
burdened with precious booty. The marques and duke, with their
confederate cavaliers, repaired to Antiquera, where they were
received with great distinction by the king, who honored the marques
of Cadiz with signal marks of favor. The duke then accompanied his
late enemy, but now most zealous and grateful friend, the marques of
Cadiz, to his town of Marchena, where he received the reward of his
generous conduct in the thanks and blessings of the marchioness.
The marques celebrated a sumptuous feast in honor of his guest;
for a day and night his palace was thrown open and was the scene
of continual revel and festivity. When the duke departed for his
estates at St. Lucar the marques attended him for some distance on
his journey, and when they separated it was as the parting scene of
brothers. Such was the noble spectacle exhibited to the chivalry of
Spain by these two illustrious rivals. Each reaped universal renown
from the part he had performed in the campaign–the marques from
having surprised and captured one of the most important and
formidable fortresses of the kingdom of Granada, and the duke from
having subdued his deadliest foe by a great act of magnanimity.

CHAPTER IX.

EVENTS AT GRANADA, AND RISE OF THE MOORISH KING, BOABDIL

EL CHICO.

The Moorish king, Abul Hassan, returned, baffled and disappointed,

from before the walls of Alhama, and was received with groans and
smothered execrations by the people of Granada. The prediction of
the santon was in every mouth, and appeared to be rapidly
fulfilling, for the enemy was already strongly fortified in Alhama,
in the very heart of the kingdom. At the same time, the nobles who
had secretly conspired to depose the old king and elevate his son

37
Boabdil to the throne had matured their plans in concert with the
prince, who had been joined in Guadix by hosts of adherents. An
opportunity soon presented to carry their plans into operation.

Muley Abul Hassan had a royal country palace, with gardens and
fountains, called the Alixares, situated on the Cerro del Sol, or
Mountain of the Sun, a height the ascent to which leads up from the
Alhambra, but which towers far above that fortress, and looks down
as from the clouds upon it and upon the subjacent city of Granada.
It was a favorite retreat of the Moorish kings to inhale the pure
mountain-breezes and leave far below the din and turmoil of the
city; Muley Abul Hassan had passed a day among its bowers, in
company with his favorite wife Zoraya, when toward evening he
heard a strange sound rising from the city, like the gathering of a
storm or the sullen roar of the ocean. Apprehensive of evil, he
ordered the officers of his guard to descend with all speed to the
city and reconnoitre. The intelligence brought back was astounding.
A civil war was raging in the city. Boabdil had been brought from
Guadix by the conspirators, the foremost of whom were the gallant
race of the Abencerrages. He had entered the Albaycin in triumph,
and been hailed with rapture and proclaimed king in that populous
quarter of the city. Abul Cacim Vanegas, the vizier, at the head of
the royal guards had attacked the rebels, and the noise which had
alarmed the king was the din of fighting in the streets and squares.

Muley Abul Hassan hastened to descend to the Alhambra, confident

that, ensconced in that formidable fortress, he could soon put an
end to the rash commotion. To his surprise and dismay, he found
the battlements lined with hostile troops: Aben Comixa, the alcayde,
had declared in favor of Boabdil and elevated his standard on the
towers: thus cut off from his stronghold, the old monarch was fain
to return to the Alixares.

The conflict lasted throughout the night with carnage on both sides.
In the morning Abul Cacim, driven out of the city, appeared before
the old king with his broken squadrons, and told him there was no
safety but in flight. ”Allah Akbar!” (God is great!) exclaimed old
Muley; ”it is in vain to contend against what is written in the book
of fate. It was predestined that my son should sit upon the throne
–Allah forfend the rest of the prediction.” So saying, he made a
hasty retreat, escorted by Abul Cacim Vanegas and his troops,
who conducted him to the castle of Mondujar in the valley of Locrin.
Here he was joined by many powerful cavaliers, relatives of Abul
Cacim and partisans of Zoraya, among whom were Cid Hiaya, Aben
Jamy, and Reduan Vanegas, men who had alcaydes, vassals, at their
command, and possessed great influence in Almeria and Baza. He
was joined also by his brother Abdallah, commonly called El Zagal,
or the Valiant, who was popular in many parts of the kingdom.
All these offered to aid him with their swords in suppressing the
rebellion.

38
 Thus reinforced, Muley Abul Hassan determined on a sudden blow
for the recovery of his throne and the punishment of the rebels.
He took his measures with that combination of dexterity and daring
which formed his character, and arrived one night under the walls of
Granada with five hundred chosen followers. Scaling the walls of
the Alhambra, he threw himself with sanguinary fury into its silent
courts. The sleeping inmates were roused from their repose only to
fall by the exterminating scimetar. The rage of Abul Hassan spared
neither age nor rank nor sex; the halls resounded with shrieks and
yells, and the fountains ran red with blood. The alcayde, Aben
Comixa, retreated to a strong tower with a few of the garrison and
inhabitants. The furious Abul Hassan did not lose time in pursuing
him; he was anxious to secure the city and to wreak his vengeance
on its rebellious inhabitants. Descending with his bloody band into
the streets, he cut down the defenceless inhabitants as, startled
from their sleep, they rushed forth to learn the cause of the alarm.
The city was soon completely roused; the people flew to arms; lights
blazed in every street, revealing the scanty number of this band
that had been dealing such fatal vengeance in the dark. Muley Abul
Hassan had been mistaken in his conjectures: the great mass of the
people, incensed by his tyranny, were zealous in favor of his son.
A violent but transient conflict took place in the streets and squares:
many of the followers of Abul Hassan were slain, the rest driven out
of the city, and the old monarch, with the remnant of his band,
retreated to his loyal city of Malaga.

Such was the commencement of those great internal feuds and

divisions which hastened the downfall of Granada. The Moors became
separated into two hostile factions, headed by the father and the
son, the latter of whom was called by the Spaniards ”El Rey Chico,”
or the Young King; but, though bloody encounters took place between
them, they never failed to act with all their separate force against
the Christians as a common enemy whenever an opportunity occurred.

CHAPTER X.

ROYAL EXPEDITION AGAINST LOXA.

King Ferdinand held a council of war at Cordova, where it was

deliberated what was to be done with Alhama. Most of the council
advised that it should be demolished, inasmuch as, being in the
centre of the Moorish kingdom, it would be at all times liable to
attack, and could only be maintained by a powerful garrison and
at a vast expense. Queen Isabella arrived at Cordova in the midst
of these deliberations, and listened to them with surprise and

39
impatience. ”What!” said she, ”destroy the first fruits of our
victories? Abandon the first place we have wrested from the Moors?
Never let us suffer such an idea to occupy our minds. It would argue
fear or feebleness, and give new courage to the enemy. You talk of
the toil and expense of maintaining Alhama. Did we doubt on
undertaking this war that it was to be one of infinite cost, labor,
and bloodshed? And shall we shrink from the cost the moment a
victory is obtained and the question is merely to guard or abandon
its glorious trophy? Let us hear no more about the destruction of
Alhama; let us maintain its walls sacred, as a stronghold granted
us by Heaven in the centre of this hostile land; and let our only
consideration be how to extend our conquest and capture the
surrounding cities.”

The language of the queen infused a more lofty and chivalrous spirit
into the royal council. Preparations were made to maintain Alhama at
all risk and expense, and King Ferdinand appointed as alcayde Luis
Fernandez Puerto Carrero, senior of the house of Palma, supported
by Diego Lopez de Ayala, Pero Ruiz de Alarcon, and Alonso Ortis,
captains of four hundred lances and a body of one thousand foot,
supplied with provisions for three months.

Ferdinand resolved also to lay siege to Loxa, or Loja, a city of

great strength at no great distance from Alhama, and all-important
to its protection. It was, in fact, a military point situated in a pass
of the mountains between the kingdoms of Granada and Castile,
and commanded a main entrance to the Vega. The Xenil flowed by
its walls, and it had a strong castle or citadel built on a rock. In
preparing for the siege of this formidable place Ferdinand called
upon all the cities and towns of Andalusia and Estramadura, and the
domains of the orders of Santiago, Calatrava, and Alcantara, and of
the priory of San Juan, and the kingdom of Toledo, and beyond to
the cities of Salamanca, Toro, and Valladolid, to furnish, according
to their repartimientos or allotments, a certain quantity of bread,
wine, and cattle to be delivered at the royal camp before Loxa, one
half at the end of June and one half in July. These lands, also,
together with Biscay and Guipuscoa, were ordered to send
reinforcements of horse and foot, each town furnishing its quota,
and great diligence was used in providing lombards, powder, and
other warlike munitions.

The Moors were no less active in their preparations, and sent

missives into Africa entreating supplies and calling upon the
Barbary princes to aid them in this war of the faith. To intercept
all succor, the Castilian sovereigns stationed an armada of ships
and galleys in the Straits of Gibraltar under the command of Martin
Diaz de Mina and Carlos de Valera, with orders to scour the Barbary
coast and sweep every Moorish sail from the sea.

While these preparations were making, Ferdinand made an incursion

40
at the head of his army into the kingdom of Granada, and laid waste
the Vega, destroying its hamlets and villages, ravaging its fields of
grain, and driving away the cattle.

It was about the end of June that King Ferdinand departed from
Cordova to sit down before the walls of Loxa. So confident was he of
success that he left a great part of the army at Ecija, and advanced
with but five thousand cavalry and eight thousand infantry. The
marques of Cadiz, a warrior as wise as he was valiant, remonstrated
against employing so small a force, and indeed was opposed to the
measure altogether, as being undertaken precipitately and without
sufficient preparation. King Ferdinand, however, was influenced by
the counsel of Don Diego de Merlo, and was eager to strike a
brilliant and decided blow. A vainglorious confidence prevailed
about this time among the Spanish cavaliers; they overrated their
own prowess, or rather they undervalued and despised their enemy.
Many of them believed that the Moors would scarcely remain in their
city when they saw the Christian troops advancing to assail it. The
Spanish chivalry, therefore, marched gallantly and fearlessly, and
almost carelessly, over the border, scantily supplied with the things
needful for a besieging army in the heart of an enemy’s country. In
the same negligent and confident spirit they took up their station
before Loxa.

The country around was broken and hilly, so that it was extremely
difficult to form a combined camp. The river Xenil, which runs by
the town, was compressed between high banks, and so deep as to
be fordable with extreme difficulty; and the Moors had possession
of the bridge. The king pitched his tents in a plantation of olives
on the banks of the river; the troops were distributed in different
encampments on the heights, but separated from each other by deep
rocky ravines, so as to be incapable of yielding each other prompt
assistance. There was no room for the operations of the cavalry.
The artillery also was so injudiciously placed as to be almost
entirely useless. Alonso of Aragon, duke of Villahermosa and
illegitimate brother of the king, was present at the siege, and
disapproved of the whole arrangement. He was one of the most
able generals of his time, and especially renowned for his skill in
battering fortified places. He recommended that the whole disposition
of the camp should be changed, and that several bridges should be
thrown across the river. His advice was adopted, but slowly and
negligently followed, so that it was rendered of no avail. Among
other oversights in this hasty and negligent expedition, the army
had no supply of baked bread, and in the hurry of encampment there
was no time to erect furnaces. Cakes were therefore hastily made
and baked on the coals, and for two days the troops were supplied
in this irregular way.

King Ferdinand felt, too late, the insecurity of his position, and
endeavored to provide a temporary remedy. There was a height near

41
the city, called by the Moors Santo Albohacen, which was in front of
the bridge. He ordered several of his most valiant cavaliers to take
possession of this height and to hold it as a check upon the enemy
and a protection to the camp. The cavaliers chosen for this
distinguished and perilous post were the marques of Cadiz, the
marques of Villena, Don Roderigo Tellez Giron, master of Calatrava,
his brother the count of Urena, and Don Alonso de Aguilar. These
valiant warriors and tried companions-in-arms led their troops with
alacrity to the height, which soon glittered with the array of arms,
and was graced by several of the most redoubtable pennons of
warlike Spain.

Loxa was commanded at this time by an old Moorish alcayde whose

daughter was the favorite wife of Boabdil. The name of this Moor
was Ibrahim Ali Atar, but he was generally known among the Spaniards
as Alatar. He had grown gray in border warfare, was an implacable
enemy of the Christians, and his name had long been the terror of
the frontier. Lord of Zagra and in the receipt of rich revenues, he
expended them all in paying scouts and spies and maintaining a small
but chosen force with which to foray into the Christian territories;
and so straitened was he at times by these warlike expenses that
when his daughter married Boabdil her bridal dress and jewels had
to be borrowed. He was now in the ninetieth year of his age, yet
indomitable in spirit, fiery in his passions, sinewy and powerful in
frame, deeply versed in warlike stratagem, and accounted the best
lance in all Mauritania. He had three thousand horsemen under his
command, veteran troops with whom he had often scoured the borders,
and he daily expected the old Moorish king with reinforcements.

Old Ali Atar had watched from his fortress every movement of the
Christian army, and had exulted in all the errors of its commanders:
when he beheld the flower of Spanish chivalry glittering about the
height of Albohacen, his eye flashed with exultation. ”By the aid of
Allah,” said he, ”I will give those pranking cavaliers a rouse.”

Ali Atar privately and by night sent forth a large body of his chosen
troops to lie in ambush near one of the skirts of Albohacen. On the
fourth day of the siege he sallied across the bridge and made a
feint attack upon the height. The cavaliers rushed impetuously
forth to meet him, leaving their encampment almost unprotected. Ali
Atar wheeled and fled, and was hotly pursued. When the Christian
cavaliers had been drawn a considerable distance from their
encampment, they heard a vast shout behind them, and, looking round,
beheld their encampment assailed by the Moorish force which had been
placed in ambush, and which had ascended a different side of the
hill. The cavaliers desisted from the pursuit, and hastened to prevent
the plunder of their tents. Ali Atar, in his turn, wheeled and pursued
them, and they were attacked in front and rear on the summit of the
hill. The contest lasted for an hour; the height of Albohacen was red
with blood; many brave cavaliers fell, expiring among heaps of the

42
enemy. The fierce Ali Atar fought with the fury of a demon until the
arrival of more Christian forces compelled him to retreat into the city.
The severest loss to the Christians in this skirmish was that of
Roderigo Tellez Giron, grand master of Calatrava, whose burnished
armor, emblazoned with the red cross of his order, made him a mark
for the missiles of the enemy. As he was raising his arm to make a
blow an arrow pierced him just beneath the shoulder, at the open
part of the[1]corselet. The lance and bridle fell from his hands, he
faltered in his saddle, and would have fallen to the ground, but was
caught by Pedro Gasca, a cavalier of Avila, who conveyed him to his
tent, where he died. The king and queen and the whole kingdom
mourned his death, for he was in the freshness of his youth, being
but twenty-four years of age, and had proved himself a gallant and
high-minded cavalier. A melancholy group collected about his[2]corpse
on the bloody height of Albohacen: the knights of Calatrava mourned
him as a commander; the cavaliers who were encamped on the height
lamented him as their companion-in-arms in a service of peril; while
the count de Urena grieved over him with the tender affection of a
brother.

King Ferdinand now perceived the wisdom of the opinion of the

marques of Cadiz, and that his force was quite insufficient for
the enterprise. To continue his camp in its present unfortunate
position would cost him the lives of his bravest cavaliers, if not
a total defeat in case of reinforcements to the enemy. He called
a council of war late in the evening of Saturday, and it was
determined to withdraw the army early the next morning to Rio
Frio, a short distance from the city, and there wait for additional
troops from Cordova.

The next morning early the cavaliers on the height of Albohacen

began to strike their tents. No sooner did Ali Atar behold this than
he sallied forth to attack them. Many of the Christian troops, who
had not heard of the intention to change the camp, seeing the tents
struck and the Moors sallying forth, supposed that the enemy had
been reinforced in the night, and that the army was on the point of
retreating. Without stopping to ascertain the truth or to receive
orders they fled in dismay, spreading confusion through the camp,
nor did they halt until they had reached the Rock of the Lovers,
about seven leagues from Loxa.

Pulgar, Cronica.

The king and his commanders saw the imminent peril of the
moment, and made face to the Moors, each commander guarding
his quarter and repelling all assaults while the tents were struck
and the artillery and ammunition conveyed away. The king, with a
handful of cavaliers, galloped to a rising ground, exposed to the
fire of the enemy, calling upon the flying troops and endeavoring
in vain to rally them. Setting upon the Moors, he and his cavaliers

43
charged them so vigorously, that they put a squadron to flight,
slaying many with their swords and lances and driving others into
the river, where they were drowned. The Moors, however, were
soon reinforced, and returned in great numbers. The king was in
danger of being surrounded, and twice owed his safety to the valor
of Don Juan de Ribera, senior of Montemayor.

The marques of Cadiz beheld from a distance the peril of his

sovereign. Summoning about seventy horsemen to follow him, he
galloped to the spot, threw himself between the king and the enemy,
and, hurling his lance, transpierced one of the most daring of the
Moors. For some time he remained with no other weapon than his
sword; his horse was wounded by an arrow and many of his followers
were slain; but he succeeded in beating off the Moors and rescuing
the king from imminent jeopardy, whom he then prevailed upon to
retire to less dangerous ground.

The marques continued throughout the day to expose himself to the

repeated assaults of the enemy: he was ever found in the place of
the greatest danger, and through his bravery a great part of the
army and camp was preserved from destruction.

Cura de los Palacios, c. 58.

It was a perilous day for the commanders, for in a retreat of the

kind it is the noblest cavaliers who most expose themselves to save
their people. The duke of Medina Celi was struck to the ground, but
rescued by his troops. The count de Tendilla, whose tents were
nearest to the city, received several wounds, and various other
cavaliers of the most distinguished note were exposed to fearful
jeopardy. The whole day was passed in bloody skirmishings, in which
the hidalgos and cavaliers of the royal household distinguished
themselves by their bravery: at length, the encampments being all
broken up and most of the artillery and baggage removed, the bloody
height of Albohacen was abandoned and the neighborhood of Loxa
evacuated. Several tents, a quantity of provisions, and a few pieces
of artillery were left upon the spot from the want of horses and
mules to carry them off.

Ali Atar hung upon the rear of the retiring army, and harassed it
until it reached Rio Frio; Ferdinand returned thence to Cordova,
deeply mortified, though greatly benefited, by the severe lesson
he had received, which served to render him more cautious in his
campaigns and more diffident of fortune. He sent letters to all
parts excusing his retreat, imputing it to the small number of his
forces, and the circumstance that many of them were quotas sent
from various cities, and not in royal pay; in the mean time, to
console his troops for their disappointment and to keep up their
spirits, he led them upon another inroad to lay waste the Vega of
Granada.

44
CHAPTER XI.

HOW MULEY ABUL HASSAN MADE A FORAY INTO THE LANDS OF

MEDINA SIDONIA, AND HOW HE WAS RECEIVED.

Muley Abul Hassan had mustered an army and marched to the relief
of Loxa, but arrived too late; the last squadron of Ferdinand had
already passed over the border. ”They have come and gone,” said
he, ”like a summer cloud, and all their vaunting has been mere empty
thunder.” He turned to make another attempt upon Alhama, the
garrison of which was in the utmost consternation at the retreat of
Ferdinand, and would have deserted the place had it not been for
the courage and perseverance of the alcayde, Luis Fernandez Puerto
Carrero. That brave and loyal commander cheered up the spirits of
his men and kept the old Moorish king at bay until the approach of
Ferdinand, on his second incursion into the Vega, obliged him to
make an unwilling retreat to Malaga.

Muley Abul Hassan felt that it would be in vain, with his inferior
force, to oppose the powerful army of the Christian monarch, but
to remain idle and see his territories laid waste would ruin him in
the estimation of his people. ”If we cannot parry,” said he, ”we
can strike; if we cannot keep our own lands from being ravaged,
we can ravage the lands of the enemy.” He inquired and learnt
that most of the chivalry of Andalusia, in their eagerness for a foray,
had marched off with the king, and left their own country almost
defenceless. The territories of the duke of Medina Sidonia were
particularly unguarded: here were vast plains of pasturage covered
with flocks and herds–the very country for a hasty inroad. The
old monarch had a bitter grudge against the duke for having
foiled him at Alhama. ”I’ll give this cavalier a lesson,” said he,
exultingly, ”that will cure him of his love of campaigning.” So he
prepared in all haste for a foray into the country about Medina
Sidonia.

Muley Abul Hassan sallied out of Malaga with fifteen hundred horse
and six thousand foot, and took the way by the sea-coast, marching
through Estiponia, and entering the Christian country between
Gibraltar and Castellar. The only person that was likely to molest
him on this route was one Pedro de Vargas, a shrewd, hardy, and
vigilant soldier, alcayde of Gibraltar, and who lay ensconced in his
old warrior rock as in a citadel. Muley Abul Hassan knew the
watchful and daring character of the man, but had ascertained that
his garrison was too small to enable him to make a sally, or at
least to ensure him any success. Still, he pursued his march with

45
great silence and caution; sent parties in advance to explore every
pass where a foe might lie in ambush; cast many an anxious eye
toward the old rock of Gibraltar as its cloud-capped summit was seen
towering in the distance on his left; nor did he feel entirely at ease
until he had passed through the broken and mountainous country
of Castellar and descended into the plains. Here he encamped on
the banks of the Celemin, and sent four hundred corredors, or fleet
horsemen, armed with lances, to station themselves near Algeziras
and keep a strict watch across the bay upon the opposite fortress
of Gibraltar. If the alcayde attempted to sally forth, they were to
waylay and attack him, being almost four times his supposed force,
and were to send swift tidings to the camp. In the mean time two
hundred corredors were sent to scour that vast plain called the
Campina de Tarifa, abounding with flocks and herds, and two hundred
more were to ravage the lands about Medina Sidonia. Muley Abul
Hassan remained with the main body of the army as a rallying-point
on the banks of the Celemin.

The foraging parties scoured the country to such effect that they
came driving vast flocks and herds before them, enough to supply
the place of all that had been swept from the Vega of Granada.
The troops which had kept watch upon the rock of Gibraltar returned
with word that they had not seen a Christian helmet stirring. The
old king congratulated himself upon the secrecy and promptness
with which he had conducted his foray, and upon having baffled
the vigilance of Pedro de Vargas.

He had not been so secret, however, as he imagined; the watchful

alcayde of Gibraltar had received notice of his movements, but his
garrison was barely sufficient for the defence of his post. Luckily,
there arrived at this juncture a squadron of the armed galleys,
under Carlos de Valera, recently stationed in the Straits. Pedro de
Vargas prevailed upon him to take charge of Gibraltar during his
temporary absence, and forthwith sallied out at midnight at the head
of seventy chosen horsemen. By his command alarm-fires were lighted
on the mountains, signals that the Moors were on the ravage, at
sight of which the peasants were accustomed to drive their flocks
and herds to places of refuge. He sent couriers also spurring in
every direction, summoning all capable of bearing arms to meet him
at Castellar. This was a town strongly posted on a steep height, by
which the Moorish king would have to return.

Muley Abul Hassan saw by the fires blazing on the mountains that the
country was rising. He struck his tents, and pushed forward as
rapidly as possible for the border; but he was encumbered with booty
and with the vast cavalgada swept from the pastures of the Campina
de Tarifa. His scouts brought him word that there were troops in
the field, but he made light of the intelligence, knowing that they
could only be those of the alcayde of Gibraltar, and that he had
not more than a hundred horsemen in his garrison. He threw in

46
advance two hundred and fifty of his bravest troops, and with them
the alcaydes of Marabella and Casares. Behind this van-guard
followed a great cavalgada of cattle, and in the rear marched the
king with the main force of his little army.

It was near the middle of a sultry summer day when they approached
Castellar. De Vargas was on the watch, and beheld, by an immense
cloud of dust, that they were descending one of the heights of that
wild and broken country. The van-guard and rear-guard were above
half a league asunder, with the cavalgada between them, and a long
and close forest hid them from each other. De Vargas saw that they
could render but little assistance to each other in case of a sudden
attack, and might be easily thrown into confusion. He chose fifty of
his bravest horsemen, and, making a circuit, took his post secretly
in a narrow glen opening into a defile between two rocky heights
through which the Moors had to pass. It was his intention to suffer
the van-guard and the cavalgada to pass, and to fall upon the rear.

While thus lying perdu six Moorish scouts, well mounted and well
armed, entered the glen, examining every place that might conceal an
enemy. Some of the Christians advised that they should slay these
six men and retreat to Gibraltar. ”No,” said De Vargas; ”I have come
out for higher game than these; and I hope, by the aid of God and
Santiago, to do good work this day. I know these Moors well, and
doubt not but that they may readily be thrown into confusion.”

By this time the six horsemen approached so near that they were on
the point of discovering the Christian ambush. De Vargas gave the
word, and ten horsemen rushed upon them; in an instant four of the
Moors rolled in the dust; the other two put spurs to their steeds
and fled toward their army, pursued by the ten Christians. About
eighty of the Moorish van-guard came galloping to the relief of
their companions; the Christians turned and fled toward their
ambush. De Vargas kept his men concealed until the fugitives and
their pursuers came clattering pell-mell into the glen. At a signal
trumpet his men sallied forth with great heat and in close array.
The Moors almost rushed upon their weapons before they perceived
them; forty of the infidels were overthrown, the rest turned their
back. ”Forward!” cried De Vargas; ”let us give the van-guard a brush
before it can be joined by the rear.” So saying, he pursued the
flying Moors down hill, and came with such force and fury upon the
advance-guard as to overturn many of them at the first encounter.
As he wheeled off with his men the Moors discharged their lances,
upon which he returned to the charge and made great slaughter.
The Moors fought valiantly for a short time, until the alcaydes of
Marabella and Casares were slain, when they gave way and fled
for the rear-guard. In their flight they passed through the cavalgada
of cattle, threw the whole in confusion, and raised such a cloud of
dust that the Christians could no longer distinguish objects. Fearing
that the king and the main body might be at hand, and finding that

47
De Vargas was badly wounded, they contented themselves with
despoiling the slain and taking above twenty-eight horses, and
then retreated to Castellar.

When the routed Moors came flying back upon the rear-guard, Muley
Abul Hassan feared that the people of Xeres were in arms. Several
of his followers advised him to abandon the cavalgada and retreat
by another road. ”No,” said the old king; ”he is no true soldier who
gives up his booty without fighting.” Putting spurs to his horse, he
galloped forward through the centre of the cavalgada, driving the
cattle to the right and left. When he reached the field of battle,
he found it strewed with the bodies of upward of one hundred Moors,
among which were those of the two alcaydes. Enraged at the sight,
he summoned all his crossbowmen and cavalry, pushed on to the very
gates of Castellar, and set fire to two houses close to the walls.
Pedro de Vargas was too severely wounded to sally forth in person,
but he ordered out his troops, and there was brisk skirmishing under
the walls, until the king drew off and returned to the scene of the
recent encounter. Here he had the bodies of the principal warriors
laid across mules, to be interred honorably at Malaga; the rest of
the slain were buried on the field of battle. Then, gathering
together the scattered cavalgada, he paraded it slowly, in an
immense line, past the walls of Castellar by way of taunting his foe.

With all his fierceness, old Muley Abul Hassan had a gleam of warlike
courtesy, and admired the hardy and soldier-like character of Pedro
de Vargas. He summoned two Christian captives, and demanded
what were the revenues of the alcayde of Gibraltar. They told him
that, among other things, he was entitled to one out of every drove
of cattle that passed his boundaries. ”Allah forbid,” cried the old
monarch, ”that so brave a cavalier should be defrauded of his dues!”

He immediately chose twelve of the finest cattle from the twelve

droves which formed the cavalgada. These he gave in charge to an
alfaqui to deliver to Pedro de Vargas. ”Tell him,” said he, ”that I
crave his pardon for not having sent these cattle sooner; but I have
this moment learnt the nature of his rights, and I hasten to satisfy
them with the punctuality due to so worthy a cavalier. Tell him, at
the same time, that I had no idea the alcayde of Gibraltar was so
active and vigilant in collecting his tolls.”

The brave alcayde relished the stern soldier-like pleasantry of the

old Moorish monarch. He ordered a rich silken vest and a scarlet
mantle to be given to the alfaqui, and dismissed him with great
courtesy. ”Tell His Majesty,” said he, ”that I kiss his hands for
the honor he has done me, and regret that my scanty force has not
permitted me to give him a more signal reception on his coming
into these parts. Had three hundred horsemen, whom I have been
promised from Xeres, arrived in time, I might have served up an
entertainment more befitting such a monarch. I trust, however, they

48
will arrive in the course of the night, in which case His Majesty
may be sure of a royal regale in the dawning.”

Muley Abul Hassan shook his head when he received the reply of De
Vargas. ”Allah preserve us,” said he, ”from any visitation of these
hard riders of Xeres! A handful of troops acquainted with the wild
passes of these mountains may destroy an army encumbered as ours
is with booty.”

It was some relief to the king, however, to learn that the hardy
alcayde of Gibraltar was too severely wounded to take the field in
person. He immediately beat a retreat with all speed before the
close of day, hurrying with such precipitation that the cavalgada
was frequently broken and scattered among the rugged defiles of
the mountains, and above five thousand of the cattle turned back
and were regained by the Christians. Muley Abul Hassan returned
triumphantly with the residue to Malaga, glorying in the spoils of
the duke of Medina Sidonia.

King Ferdinand was mortified at finding his incursion into the Vega
of Granada counterbalanced by this inroad into his dominions, and
saw that there were two sides to the game of war, as to all other
games. The only one who reaped real glory in this series of inroads
and skirmishings was Pedro de Vargas, the stout alcayde of Gibraltar.

Alonzo de Palencia, 1. 28, c. 3, MS.

CHAPTER XII.

FORAY OF SPANISH CAVALIERS AMONG THE MOUNTAINS OF MALAGA.

The foray of old Muley Abul Hassan had touched the pride of the
Andalusian chivalry, and they determined on retaliation. For this
purpose a number of the most distinguished cavaliers assembled at
Antiquera in the month of March, 1483. The leaders of the enterprise
were, the gallant marques of Cadiz; Don Pedro Henriquez, adelantado
of Andalusia; Don Juan de Silva, count of Cifuentes and bearer of the
royal standard, who commanded in Seville; Don Alonso de Cardenas,
master of the religious and military order of Santiago; and Don Alonso
de Aguilar. Several other cavaliers of note hastened to take part in
the enterprise, and in a little while about twenty-seven hundred
horse and several companies of foot were assembled within the old
warlike city of Antiquera, comprising the very flower of Andalusian
chivalry.

A council of war was held by the chiefs to determine in what quarter

49
they should strike a blow. The rival Moorish kings were waging civil
war with each other in the vicinity of Granada, and the whole
country lay open to inroads. Various plans were proposed by the
different cavaliers. The marques of Cadiz was desirous of scaling
the walls of Zahara and regaining possession of that important
fortress. The master of Santiago, however, suggested a wider range
and a still more important object. He had received information from
his adalides, who were apostate Moors, that an incursion might be
safely made into a mountainous region near Malaga called the
Axarquia. Here were valleys of pasture-land well stocked with
flocks and herds, and there were numerous villages and hamlets,
which would be an easy prey. The city of Malaga was too weakly
garrisoned and had too few cavalry to send forth any force in
opposition; nay, he added, they might even extend their ravages to
its very gates, and peradventure carry that wealthy place by sudden
assault.

The adventurous spirits of the cavaliers were inflamed by this

suggestion: in their sanguine confidence they already beheld Malaga
in their power, and they were eager for the enterprise. The marques
of Cadiz endeavored to interpose a little cool caution. He likewise
had apostate adalides, the most intelligent and experienced on the
borders: among these he placed especial reliance on one named Luis
Amar, who knew all the mountains and valleys of the country. He had
received from him a particular account of these mountains of the
Axarquia. Their savage and broken nature was a sufficient defence
for the fierce people who inhabited them, who, manning their rocks
and their tremendous passes, which were often nothing more than
the deep dry beds of torrents, might set whole armies at defiance.
Even if vanquished, they afforded no spoil to the victor. Their houses
were little better than bare walls, and they would drive off their
scanty flocks and herds to the fastnesses of the mountains.

Pulgar, in his Chronicle, reverses the case, and makes the marques
of Cadiz recommend the expedition to the Axarquia; but Fray Antonio
Agapida is supported in his statement by that most veracious and
contemporary chronicler, Andres Bernaldez, curate of Los Palacios.

The sober counsel of the marques, however, was overruled. The

cavaliers, accustomed to mountain-warfare, considered themselves
and their horses equal to any wild and rugged expedition, and were
flushed with the idea of terminating their foray by a brilliant
assault upon Malaga.

Leaving all heavy baggage at Antiquera, and all such as had horses
too weak for this mountain-scramble, they set forth full of spirit and
confidence. Don Alonso de Aguilar and the adelantado of Andalusia
led the squadron of advance. The count of Cifuentes followed with
certain of the chivalry of Seville. Then came the battalion of the
most valiant Roderigo Ponce de Leon, marques of Cadiz: he was

50
accompanied by several of his brothers and nephews and many
cavaliers who sought distinction under his banner, and this family
band attracted universal attention and applause as they paraded
in martial state through the streets of Antiquera. The rear-guard
was led by Don Alonso Cardenas, master of Santiago, and was
composed of the knights of his order and the cavaliers of Ecija,
with certain men-at-arms of the Holy Brotherhood whom the king
had placed under his command. The army was attended by a great
train of mules, laden with provisions for a few days’ supply until they
should be able to forage among the Moorish villages. Never did a
more gallant and self-confident little army tread the earth. It was
composed of men full of health and vigor, to whom war was a pastime
and delight. They had spared no expense in their equipments, for
never was the pomp of war carried to a higher pitch than among the
proud chivalry of Spain. Cased in armor richly inlaid and embossed,
decked with rich surcoats and waving plumes, and superbly mounted
on Andalusian steeds, they pranced out of Antiquera with banners
flying and their various devices and armorial bearings ostentatiously
displayed, and in the confidence of their hopes promised the
inhabitants to enrich them with the spoils of Malaga.

In the rear of this warlike pageant followed a peaceful band intent

upon profiting by the anticipated victories. They were not the
customary wretches that hover about armies to plunder and strip
the dead, but goodly and substantial traders from Seville, Cordova,
and other cities of traffic. They rode sleek mules and were clad in
goodly raiment, with long leather purses at their girdles well filled
with pistoles and other golden coin. They had heard of the spoils
wasted by the soldiery at the capture of Alhama, and were provided
with moneys to buy up the jewels and precious stones, the vessels
of gold and silver, and the rich silks and cloths that should form the
plunder of Malaga. The proud cavaliers eyed these sons of traffic
with great disdain, but permitted them to follow for the convenience
of the troops, who might otherwise be overburdened with booty.

It had been intended to conduct this expedition with great celerity

and secrecy, but the noise of the preparations had already reached
the city of Malaga. The garrison, it is true, was weak, but it
possessed a commander who was himself a host. This was Muley
Abdallah, commonly called El Zagal, or the Valiant. He was younger
brother of Muley Abul Hassan, and general of the few forces which
remained faithful to the old monarch. He possessed equal fierceness
of spirit with his brother, and surpassed him in craft and vigilance.
His very name was a war-cry among his soldiery, who had the most
extravagant opinion of his prowess.

El Zagal suspected that Malaga was the object of this noisy

expedition. He consulted with old Bexir, a veteran Moor, who
governed the city. ”If this army of marauders should reach Malaga,”
said he, ”we should hardly be able to keep them without its walls.

51
I will throw myself with a small force into the mountains, rouse the
peasantry, take possession of the passes, and endeavor to give
these Spanish cavaliers sufficient entertainment upon the road.”

It was on a Wednesday that the pranking army of high-mettled

warriors issued forth from the ancient gates of Antiquera. They
marched all day and night, making their way, secretly as they
supposed, through the passes of the mountains. As the tract of
country they intended to maraud was far in the Moorish territories,
near the coast of the Mediterranean, they did not arrive there until
late in the following day. In passing through these stern and lofty
mountains their path was often along the bottom of a barranco,
or deep rocky valley, with a scanty stream dashing along it among
the loose rocks and stones which it had broken and rolled down in
the time of its autumnal violence. Sometimes their road was a mere
rambla, or dry bed of a torrent, cut deep into the mountains and
filled with their shattered fragments. These barrancos and ramblas
were overhung by immense cliffs and precipices, forming the lurking-
places of ambuscades during the wars between the Moors and
Spaniards, as in after times they have become the favorite haunts
of robbers to waylay the unfortunate traveller.

As the sun went down the cavaliers came to a lofty part of the
mountains, commanding to the right a distant glimpse of a part of
the fair vega of Malaga, with the blue Mediterranean beyond, and
they hailed it with exultation as a glimpse of the promised land.
As the night closed in they reached the chain of little valleys and
hamlets locked up among these rocky heights, and known among the
Moors by the name of the Axarquia. Here their vaunting hopes were
destined to meet with the first disappointment. The inhabitants had
heard of their approach: they had conveyed away their cattle and
effects, and with their wives and children had taken refuge in the
towers and fastnesses of the mountains.

Enraged at their disappointment, the troops set fire to the deserted

houses and pressed forward, hoping for better fortune as they
advanced. Don Alonso de Aguilar and the other cavaliers in the
van-guard spread out their forces to lay waste the country,
capturing a few lingering herds of cattle, with the Moorish
peasants who were driving them to some place of safety.

While this marauding party carried fire and sword in the advance
and lit up the mountain-cliffs with the flames of the hamlets, the
master of Santiago, who brought the rear-guard, maintained strict
order, keeping his knights together in martial array, ready for attack
or defence should an enemy appear. The men-at-arms of the Holy
Brotherhood attempted to roam in quest of booty, but he called
them back and rebuked them severely.

At length they came to a part of the mountain completely broken up

52
by barrancos and ramblas of vast depth and shagged with rocks and
precipices. It was impossible to maintain the order of march; the
horses had no room for action, and were scarcely manageable, having
to scramble from rock to rock and up and down frightful declivities
where there was scarce footing for a mountain-goat. Passing by a
burning village, the light of the flames revealed their perplexed
situation. The Moors, who had taken refuge in a watch-tower on an
impending height, shouted with exultation when they looked down
upon these glistening cavaliers struggling and stumbling among
the rocks. Sallying forth from their tower, they took possession of
the cliffs which overhung the ravine and hurled darts and stones
upon the enemy. It was with the utmost grief of heart that the good
master of Santiago beheld his brave men falling like helpless victims
around him, without the means of resistance or revenge. The
confusion of his followers was increased by the shouts of the Moors
multiplied by the echoes of every crag and cliff, as if they were
surrounded by innumerable foes. Being entirely ignorant of the
country, in their struggles to extricate themselves they plunged
into other glens and defiles, where they were still more exposed
to danger. In this extremity the master of Santiago despatched
messengers in search of succor. The marques of Cadiz, like a loyal
companion-in-arms, hastened to his aid with his cavalry: his approach
checked the assaults of the enemy, and the master was at length
enabled to extricate his troops from the defile.

In the mean time, Don Alonso de Aguilar and his companions, in their
eager advance, had likewise got entangled in deep glens and the
dry beds of torrents, where they had been severely galled by the
insulting attacks of a handful of Moorish peasants posted on the
impending precipices. The proud spirit of De Aguilar was incensed at
having the game of war thus turned upon him, and his gallant forces
domineered over by mountain-boors whom he had thought to drive,
like their own cattle, to Antiquera. Hearing, however, that his friend
the marques of Cadiz and the master of Santiago were engaged with
the enemy, he disregarded his own danger, and, calling together his
troops, returned to assist them, or rather to partake their perils.
Being once more together, the cavaliers held a hasty council amidst
the hurling of stones and the whistling of arrows, and their resolves
were quickened by the sight from time to time of some gallant
companion-in-arms laid low. They determined that there was no
spoil in this part of the country to repay for the extraordinary peril,
and that it was better to abandon the herds they had already
taken, which only embarrassed their march, and to retreat with all
speed to less dangerous ground.

The adalides, or guides, were ordered to lead the way out of this
place of carnage. These, thinking to conduct them by the most
secure route, led them by a steep and rocky pass, difficult for the
foot-soldiers, but almost impracticable to the cavalry. It was
overhung with precipices, from whence showers of stones and arrows

53
were poured upon them, accompanied by savage yells which appalled
the stoutest heart. In some places they could pass but one at a
time, and were often transpierced, horse and rider, by the Moorish
darts, impeding the progress of their comrades by their dying
struggles. The surrounding precipices were lit up by a thousand
alarm-fires: every crag and cliff had its flame, by the light of which
they beheld their foes bounding from rock to rock and looking
more like fiends than mortal men.

Either through terror and confusion or through real ignorance of

the country their guides, instead of conducting them out of the
mountains, led them deeper into their fatal recesses. The morning
dawned upon them in a narrow rambla, its bottom formed of broken
rocks, where once had raved along the mountain-torrent, while above
there beetled great arid cliffs, over the brows of which they beheld
the turbaned heads of their fierce and exulting foes. What a
different appearance did the unfortunate cavaliers present from that
of the gallant band that marched so vauntingly out of Antiquera!
Covered with dust and blood and wounds, and haggard with fatigue
and horror, they looked like victims rather than like warriors. Many
of their banners were lost, and not a trumpet was heard to rally up
their sinking spirits. The men turned with imploring eyes to their
commanders, while the hearts of the cavaliers were ready to burst
with rage and grief at the merciless havoc made among their faithful
followers.

All day they made ineffectual attempts to extricate themselves from

the mountains. Columns of smoke rose from the heights where in
the preceding night had blazed the alarm-fire. The mountaineers
assembled from every direction: they swarmed at every pass, getting
in the advance of the Christians, and garrisoning the cliffs like so
many towers and battlements.

Night closed again upon the Christians when they were shut up in
a narrow valley traversed by a deep stream and surrounded by
precipices which seemed to reach the skies, and on which blazed and
flared the alarm-fires. Suddenly a new cry was heard resounding
along the valley. ”El Zagal! El Zagal!” echoed from cliff to cliff.

”What cry is that?” said the master of Santiago.

”It is the war-cry of El Zagal, the Moorish general,” said an old

Castilian soldier: ”he must be coming in person, with the troops
of Malaga.”

The worthy master turned to his knights: ”Let us die,” said he,
”making a road with our hearts, since we cannot with our swords.
Let us scale the mountain and sell our lives dearly, instead of
staying here to be tamely butchered.”

54
 So saying, he turned his steed against the mountain and spurred him
up its flinty side. Horse and foot followed his example, eager, if
they could not escape, to have at least a dying blow at the enemy.
As they struggled up the height a tremendous storm of darts and
stones was showered upon them by the Moors. Sometimes a fragment
of rock came bounding and thundering down, ploughing its way through
the centre of their host. The foot-soldiers, faint with weariness and
hunger or crippled by wounds, held by the tails and manes of the
horses to aid them in their ascent, while the horses, losing their
foothold among the loose stones or receiving some sudden wound,
tumbled down the steep declivity, steed, rider, and soldier rolling
from crag to crag until they were dashed to pieces in the valley.
In this desperate struggle the alferez or standard-bearer of the
master, with his standard, was lost, as were many of his relations
and his dearest friends. At length he succeeded in attaining the
crest of the mountain, but it was only to be plunged in new
difficulties. A wilderness of rocks and rugged dells lay before him
beset by cruel foes. Having neither banner nor trumpet by which
to rally his troops, they wandered apart, each intent upon saving
himself from the precipices of the mountains and the darts of the
enemy. When the pious master of Santiago beheld the scattered
fragments of his late gallant force, he could not restrain his grief.
”O God!” exclaimed he, ”great is thine anger this day against
thy servants. Thou hast converted the cowardice of these infidels
into desperate valor, and hast made peasants and boors victorious
over armed men of battle.”

He would fain have kept with his foot-soldiers, and, gathering them
together, have made head against the enemy, but those around
him entreated him to think only of his personal safety. To remain
was to perish without striking a blow; to escape was to preserve a
life that might be devoted to vengeance on the Moors. The master
reluctantly yielded to the advice. ”O Lord of hosts!” exclaimed he
again, ”from thy wrath do I fly, not from these infidels: they are
but instruments in thy hands to chastise us for our sins.” So saying,
he sent the guides in the advance, and, putting spurs to his horse,
dashed through a defile of the mountains before the Moors could
intercept him. The moment the master put his horse to speed,
his troops scattered in all directions. Some endeavored to follow
his traces, but were confounded among the intricacies of the
mountain. They fled hither and thither, many perishing among
the precipices, others being slain by the Moors, and others taken
prisoners.

The gallant marques of Cadiz, guided by his trusty adalid, Luis Amar,
had ascended a different part of the mountain. He was followed
by his friend, Don Alonso de Aguilar, the adelantado, and the count
of Cifuentes, but in the darkness and confusion the bands of these
commanders became separated from each other. When the marques
attained the summit, he looked around for his companions-in-arms,

55
but they were no longer following him, and there was no trumpet to
summon them. It was a consolation to the marques, however, that
his brothers and several of his relations, with a number of his
retainers, were still with him: he called his brothers by name,
and their replies gave comfort to his heart.

His guide now led the way into another valley, where he would be
less exposed to danger: when he had reached the bottom of it the
marques paused to collect his scattered followers and to give time
for his fellow-commanders to rejoin him. Here he was suddenly
assailed by the troops of El Zagal, aided by the mountaineers
from the cliffs. The Christians, exhausted and terrified, lost all
presence of mind: most of them fled, and were either slain or taken
captive. The marques and his valiant brothers, with a few tried
friends, made a stout resistance. His horse was killed under him;
his brothers, Don Diego and Don Lope, with his two nephews, Don
Lorenzo and Don Manuel, were one by one swept from his side,
either transfixed with darts and lances by the soldiers of El Zagal
or crushed by stones from the heights. The marques was a veteran
warrior, and had been in many a bloody battle, but never before
had death fallen so thick and close around him. When he saw
his remaining brother, Don Beltran, struck out of his saddle by a
fragment of a rock and his horse running wildly about without his
rider, he gave a cry of anguish and stood bewildered and aghast.
A few faithful followers surrounded him and entreated him to fly for
his life. He would still have remained, to have shared the fortunes
of his friend Don Alonso de Aguilar and his other companions-in-arms,
but the forces of El Zagal were between him and them, and death
was whistling by on every wind. Reluctantly, therefore, he consented
to fly. Another horse was brought him: his faithful adalid guided him
by one of the steepest paths, which lasted for four leagues, the
enemy still hanging on his traces and thinning the scanty ranks of
his followers. At length the marques reached the extremity of the
mountain-defiles, and with a haggard remnant of his men escaped
by dint of hoof to Antiquera.

The count of Cifuentes, with a few of his retainers, in attempting

to follow the marques of Cadiz wandered into a narrow pass, where
they were completely surrounded by the band of El Zagal. The
count himself was assailed by six of the enemy, against whom he
was defending himself with desperation, when their leader, struck
with the inequality of the fight, ordered the others to desist, and
continued the combat alone. The count, already exhausted, was soon
compelled to surrender; his brother, Don Pedro de Silva, and the few
of his retainers who survived, were likewise taken prisoners. The
Moorish cavalier who had manifested such a chivalrous spirit in
encountering the count singly was[3]Reduan Vanegas, brother of
the former vizier of Muley Abul Hassan, and one of the leaders of
the faction of the sultana Zoraya.

56
 The dawn of day found Don Alonso de Aguilar with a handful of his
followers still among the mountains. They had attempted to follow
the marques of Cadiz, but had been obliged to pause and defend
themselves against the thickening forces of the enemy. They at
length traversed the mountain, and reached the same valley where the
marques had made his last disastrous stand. Wearied and perplexed,
they sheltered themselves in a natural grotto under an overhanging
rock, which kept off the darts of the enemy, while a bubbling
fountain gave them the means of slaking their raging thirst and
refreshing their exhausted steeds. As day broke the scene of
slaughter unfolded its horrors. There lay the noble brothers and
nephews of the gallant marques, transfixed with darts or gashed and
bruised with unseemly wounds, while many other gallant cavaliers lay
stretched out dead and dying around, some of them partly stripped
and plundered by the Moors. De Aguilar was a pious knight, but his
piety was not humble and resigned, like that of the worthy master
of Santiago. He imprecated holy curses upon the infidels for having
thus laid low the flower of Christian chivalry, and he vowed in his
heart bitter vengeance upon the surrounding country.

By degrees the little force of De Aguilar was augmented by numbers

of fugitives who issued from caves and chasms where they had taken
refuge in the night. A little band of mounted knights was gradually
formed, and, the Moors having abandoned the heights to collect the
spoils of the slain, this gallant but forlorn squadron was enabled
to retreat to Antiquera.

This disastrous affair lasted from Thursday evening, throughout

Friday, the twenty-first of March, the festival of St. Benedict.
It is still recorded in Spanish calendars as the defeat of the
mountains of Malaga, and the spot where the greatest slaughter
took place is called ”la Cuesta de la Matanza,” or the Hill of the
Massacre. The principal leaders who survived returned to Antiquera.
Many of the knights took refuge in Alhama and other towns: many
wandered about the mountains for eight days, living on roots and
herbs, hiding themselves during the day and sallying forth at night.
So enfeebled and disheartened were they that they offered no
resistance if attacked. Three or four soldiers would surrender to a
Moorish peasant, and even the women of Malaga sallied forth and
made prisoners. Some were thrown into the dungeons of frontier
towns, others led captive to Granada, but by far the greater number
were conducted to Malaga, the city they had threatened to attack.
Two hundred and fifty principal cavaliers, alcaydes, commanders,
and hidalgos of generous blood were confined in the alcazaba, or
citadel, of Malaga to await their ransom, and five hundred and
seventy of the common soldiery were crowded in an enclosure
or courtyard of the alcazaba to be sold as slaves.

Cura de los Palacios.

57
 Great spoils were collected of splendid armor and weapons taken
from the slain or thrown away by the cavaliers in their flight, and
many horses, magnificently caparisoned, together with numerous
standards,–all which were paraded in triumph in the Moorish towns.

The merchants also who had come with the army, intending to traffic
in the spoils of the Moors, were themselves made objects of traffic.
Several of them were driven like cattle before the Moorish viragoes
to the market of Malaga, and, in spite of all their adroitness in
trade and their attempts to buy themselves off at a cheap ransom,
they were unable to purchase their freedom without such draughts
upon their money-bags at home as drained them to the very bottom.

CHAPTER XIII.

EFFECTS OF THE DISASTERS AMONG THE MOUNTAINS OF MALAGA.

The people of Antiquera had scarcely recovered from the tumult of

excitement and admiration caused by the departure of the gallant
band of cavaliers upon their foray when they beheld the scattered
wrecks flying for refuge to their walls. Day after day and hour after
hour brought some wretched fugitive, in whose battered plight and
haggard woebegone demeanor it was almost impossible to recognize
the warrior who had lately issued so gayly and gloriously from
their gates.

The arrival of the marques of Cadiz almost alone, covered with dust
and blood, his armor shattered and defaced, his countenance the
picture of despair, filled every heart with sorrow, for he was greatly
beloved by the people. The multitude asked of his companions
where was the band of brothers which had rallied round him as he
went forth to the field, and when told that one by one they had been
slaughtered at his side, they hushed their voices or spake to each
other only in whispers as he passed, gazing at him in silent
sympathy. No one attempted to console him in so great an affliction,
nor did the good marques speak ever a word, but, shutting himself
up, brooded in lonely anguish over his misfortune. It was only
the arrival of Don Alonso de Aguilar that gave him a gleam of
consolation, rejoicing to find that amidst the shafts of death
which had fallen so thickly among his family his chosen friend
and brother-in-arms had escaped uninjured.

For several days every eye was turned in fearful suspense toward
the Moorish border, anxiously looking in every fugitive from the
mountains for the lineaments of some friend or relative whose fate
was yet a mystery. At length every hope and doubt subsided into

58
certainty; the whole extent of this great calamity was known,
spreading grief and consternation throughout the land and laying
desolate the pride and hopes of palaces. It was a sorrow that
visited the marble hall and silken pillow. Stately dames mourned
over the loss of their sons, the joy and glory of their age, and
many a fair cheek was blanched with woe which had lately mantled
with secret admiration. ”All Andalusia,” says a historian of the
time, ”was overwhelmed by a great affliction; there was no drying
of the eyes which wept in her.”

Cura de los Palacios.

Fear and trembling reigned for a time along the frontier. Their
spear seemed broken, their buckler cleft in twain: every border town
dreaded an attack, and the mother caught her infant to her bosom
when the watch-dog howled in the night, fancying it the war-cry of
the Moor. All for a time seemed lost, and despondency even found
its way to the royal breasts of Ferdinand and Isabella amidst the
splendors of their court.

Great, on the other hand, was the joy of the Moors when they saw
whole legions of Christian warriors brought captive into their towns
by rude mountain-peasantry. They thought it the work of Allah in
favor of the faithful. But when they recognized among the captives
thus dejected and broken down some of the proudest of Christian
chivalry; when they saw several of the banners and devices of the
noblest houses of Spain, which they had been accustomed to behold
in the foremost of the battle, now trailed ignominiously through their
streets; when, in short, they witnessed the arrival of the count of
Cifuentes, the royal standard-bearer of Spain, with his gallant
brother, Don Pedro de Silva, brought prisoners into the gates of
Granada,–there were no bounds to their exultation. They thought
that the days of their ancient glory were about to return, and that
they were to renew their career of triumph over the unbelievers.

The Christian historians of the time are sorely perplexed to account

for this misfortune, and why so many Christian knights, fighting in
the cause of the holy faith, should thus miraculously, as it were,
be given captive to a handful of infidel boors, for we are assured
that all this rout and destruction was effected by five hundred foot
and fifty horse, and those mere mountaineers without science or
discipline. ”It was intended,” observes one historiographer, ”as
a lesson to their confidence and vainglory, overrating their own
prowess and thinking that so chosen a band of chivalry had but
to appear in the land of the enemy and conquer. It was to teach
them that the race is not to the swift nor the battle to the strong,
but that God alone giveth the victory.”

Cura de los Palacios.

59
 The worthy father Fray Antonio Agapida, however, asserts it to be
a punishment for the avarice of the Spanish warriors. They did not
enter the kingdom of the infidels with the pure spirit of Christian
knights, zealous only for the glory of the faith, but rather as
greedy men of traffic, to enrich themselves by vending the spoils
of the infidels. Instead of preparing themselves by confession and
communion, and executing their testaments, and making donations and
bequests to churches and convents, they thought only of arranging
bargains and sales of their anticipated booty. Instead of taking
with them holy monks to aid them with their prayers, they were
followed by a train of trading-men to keep alive their worldly and
sordid ideas, and to turn what ought to be holy triumphs into scenes
of brawling traffic. Such is the opinion of the excellent Agapida,
in which he is joined by that most worthy and upright of chroniclers,
the curate of Los Palacios. Agapida comforts himself, however, with
the reflection that this visitation was meant in mercy to try the
Castilian heart, and to extract from its present humiliation the
elements of future success, as gold is extracted from amidst the
impurities of earth; and in this reflection he is supported by the
venerable historian Pedro Abarca of the Society of Jesuits.

Abarca, Anales de Aragon, Rey 30, cap. 2, xA4 7.

CHAPTER XIV.

HOW KING BOABDIL EL CHICO MARCHED OVER THE BORDER.

The defeat of the Christian cavaliers among the mountains of Malaga,

and the successful inroad of Muley Abul Hassan into the lands of
Medina Sidonia, had produced a favorable effect on the fortunes of
the old monarch. The inconstant populace began to shout forth
his name in the streets, and to sneer at the inactivity of his son
Boabdil el Chico. The latter, though in the flower of his age and
distinguished for vigor and dexterity in jousts and tournaments,
had never yet fleshed his weapon in the field of battle; and it was
murmured that he preferred the silken repose of the cool halls of
the Alhambra to the fatigue and danger of the foray and the hard
encampments of the mountains.

The popularity of these rival kings depended upon their success

against the Christians, and Boabdil el Chico found it necessary to
strike some signal blow to counterbalance the late triumph of
his father. He was further incited by his father-in-law, Ali Atar,
alcayde of Loxa, with whom the coals of wrath against the Christians
still burned among the ashes of age, and had lately been blown into
a flame by the attack made by Ferdinand on the city under his

60
command.

Ali Atar informed Boabdil that the late discomfiture of the Christian
knights had stripped Andalusia of the prime of her chivalry and
broken the spirit of the country. All the frontier of Cordova and
Ecija now lay open to inroad; but he especially pointed out the
city of Lucena as an object of attack, being feebly garrisoned and
lying in a country rich in pasturage, abounding in cattle and grain,
in oil and wine. The fiery old Moor spoke from thorough information,
for he had made many an incursion into these parts, and his very
name was a terror throughout the country. It had become a by-
word in the garrison of Loxa to call Lucena the garden of Ali Atar,
for he was accustomed to forage its fertile territories for all his
supplies.

Boabdil el Chico listened to the persuasions of this veteran of the

borders. He assembled a force of nine thousand foot and seven
hundred horse, most of them his own adherents, but many the
partisans of his father; for both factions, however they might fight
among themselves, were ready to unite in any expedition against the
Christians. Many of the most illustrious and valiant of the Moorish
nobility assembled round his standard, magnificently arrayed in
sumptuous armor and rich embroidery, as though for a festival or
a tilt of canes rather than an enterprise of iron war. Boabdil’s
mother, the sultana Ayxa la Horra, armed him for the field, and gave
him her benediction as she girded his scimetar to his side. His
favorite wife Morayma wept as she thought of the evils that might
befall him. ”Why dost thou weep, daughter of Ali Atar?” said the
high-minded Ayxa: ”these tears become not the daughter of a
warrior nor the wife of a king. Believe me there lurks more danger
for a monarch within the strong walls of a palace than within the
frail curtains of a tent. It is by perils in the field that thy husband
must purchase security on his throne.”

But Morayma still hung upon his neck with tears and sad forebodings,
and when he departed from the Alhambra she betook herself to her
mirador, overlooking the Vega, whence she watched the army as it
went in shining order along the road leading to Loxa, and every
burst of warlike melody that came swelling on the breeze was
answered by a gush of sorrow.

As the royal cavalcade issued from the palace and descended

through the streets of Granada the populace greeted their youthful
sovereign with shouts, anticipating deeds of prowess that would
wither the laurels of his father. The appearance of Boabdil was well
calculated to captivate the public eye, if we may judge from the
description given by the abbot of Rute in his manuscript history of
the House of Cordova. He was mounted on a superb white charger
magnificently caparisoned. His corselets were of polished steel
richly ornamented, studded with gold nails, and lined with crimson

61
velvet. He wore a steel casque exquisitely chiselled and embossed;
his scimetar and dagger of Damascus were of highest temper; he had a
round buckler at his shoulder and bore a ponderous lance. In passing
through the gate of Elvira, however, he accidentally broke his lance
against the arch. At this certain of his nobles turned pale and
entreated him to turn back, for they regarded it as an evil omen.
Boabdil scoffed at their fears as idle fancies. He refused to take
another spear, but drew forth his scimetar and led the way (adds
Agapida) in an arrogant and haughty style, as though he would set
both Heaven and earth at defiance. Another evil omen was sent to
deter him from his enterprise: arriving at the rambla, or dry ravine,
of Beyro, which is scarcely a bowshot from the city, a fox ran through
the whole army and close by the person of the king, and, though
a thousand bolts were discharged at it, escaped uninjured to the
mountains. The principal courtiers now reiterated their remonstrances
against proceeding; the king, however, was not to be dismayed by
these portents, but continued to march forward.

Marmol, Rebel. de los Moros, lib. 1, c. xii., fol. 14.

At Loxa the army was reinforced by old Ali Atar with the chosen
horsemen of his garrison and many of the bravest warriors of the
border towns. The people of Loxa shouted with exultation when
they beheld Ali Atar armed at all points and mounted on his Barbary
steed, which had often borne him over the borders. The veteran
warrior, with nearly a century of years upon his head, had all the
fire and animation of youth at the prospect of a foray, and careered
from rank to rank with the velocity of an Arab of the desert. The
populace watched the army as it paraded over the bridge and wound
into the passes of the mountains, and still their eyes were fixed
upon the pennon of Ali Atar as if it bore with it an assurance
of victory.

The Moorish army entered the Christian frontier by forced marches,

hastily ravaging the country, driving off the flocks and herds, and
making captives of the inhabitants. They pressed on furiously,
and made the latter part of their march in the night, to elude
observation and come upon Lucena by surprise. Boabdil was
inexperienced in warfare, but had a veteran counsellor in his old
father-in-law; for Ali Atar knew every secret of the country, and as
he prowled through it his eye ranged over the land, uniting in its
glare the craft of the fox with the sanguinary ferocity of the wolf.
He had flattered himself that their march had been so rapid as to
outstrip intelligence, and that Lucena would be an easy capture,
when suddenly he beheld alarm-fires blazing upon the mountains.
”We are discovered,” said he to Boabdil; ”the country will be up in
arms; we have nothing left but to strike boldly for Lucena: it is but
slightly garrisoned, and we may carry it by assault before it can
receive assistance.” The king approved of his counsel, and they
marched rapidly for the gate of Lucena.

62
CHAPTER XV.

HOW THE COUNT DE CABRA SALLIED FORTH FROM HIS CASTLE IN

QUEST OF KING BOABDIL.

Don Diego de Cordova, count of Cabra, was in the castle of Vaena,

which, with the town of the same name, is situated on a lofty sun-
burnt hill on the frontier of the kingdom of Cordova and but a few
leagues from Lucena. The range of mountains of Horquera lies
between them. The castle of Vaena was strong and well furnished with
arms, and the count had a numerous band of vassals and retainers;
for it behooved the noblemen of the frontiers in those times to be
well prepared with man and horse, with lance and buckler, to resist
the sudden incursions of the Moors. The count of Cabra was a hardy
and experienced warrior, shrewd in council, prompt in action, rapid
and fearless in the field. He was one of the bravest of cavaliers
for an inroad, and had been quickened and sharpened in thought
and action by living on the borders.

On the night of the 20th of April, 1483, the count was about to
retire to rest when the watchman from the turret brought him word
that there were alarm-fires on the mountains of Horquera, and that
they were made on the signal-tower overhanging the defile through
which the road passes to Cabra and Lucena.

The count ascended the battlement and beheld five lights blazing on
the tower–a sign that there was a Moorish army attacking some place
on the frontier. The count instantly ordered the alarm-bells to be
sounded, and despatched couriers to rouse the commanders of the
neighboring towns. He called upon his retainers to prepare for
action, and sent a trumpet through the town summoning the men
to assemble at the castle-gate at daybreak armed and equipped for
the field.

Throughout the remainder of the night the castle resounded with the
din of preparation. Every house in the town was in equal bustle, for
in these frontier towns every house had its warrior, and the lance
and buckler were ever hanging against the wall ready to be snatched
down for instant service. Nothing was heard but the din of armorers,
the shoeing of steeds, and furbishing up of weapons, and all night
long the alarm-fires kept blazing on the mountains.

When the morning dawned the count of Cabra sallied forth at the head
of two hundred and fifty cavaliers of the best families of Vaena, all
well appointed, exercised in arms, and experienced in the warfare of

63
the borders. There were besides twelve hundred foot-soldiers, brave
and well-seasoned men of the same town. The count ordered them
to hasten forward, whoever could make most speed, taking the road
to Cabra, which was three leagues distant. That they might not loiter
on the road he allowed none of them to break their fast until they
arrived at that place. The provident count despatched couriers in
advance, and the little army on reaching Cabra found tables spread
with food and refreshments at the gates of the town. Here they were
joined by Don Alonso de Cordova, senior of Zuheros.

Having made a hearty repast, they were on the point of resuming

their march when the count discovered that in the hurry of his
departure from home he had forgotten to bring the standard of Vaena,
which for upward of eighty years had always been borne to battle by
his family. It was now noon, and there was no time to return: he
took, therefore, the standard of Cabra, the device of which is a
goat, and which had not been seen in the wars for the last half
century. When about to depart a courier came galloping at full
speed, bringing missives to the count from his nephew, Don Diego
Fernandez de Cordova, senior of Lucena and alcayde de los Donceles,
entreating him to hasten to his aid, as his town was beset by the
Moorish king, Boabdil el Chico, with a powerful army, who were
actually setting fire to the gates.

The ”Donceles” were young cavaliers who had been pages in

the royal household, but now formed an elite corps in the army.

The count put his little army instantly in movement for Lucena,
which is only one league from Cabra; he was fired with the idea of
having the Moorish king in person to contend with. By the time he
reached Lucena the Moors had desisted from the attack and were
ravaging the surrounding country. He entered the town with a few of
his cavaliers, and was received with joy by his nephew, whose whole
force consisted but of eighty horse and three hundred foot. Don
Diego Fernandez de Cordova was a young man, yet he was a prudent,
careful, and capable officer. Having learnt, the evening before,
that the Moors had passed the frontiers, he had gathered within his
walls all the women and children from the environs, had armed the
men, sent couriers in all directions for succor, and had lighted
alarm-fires on the mountains.

Boabdil had arrived with his army at daybreak, and had sent in a
message threatening to put the garrison to the sword if the place
were not instantly surrendered. The messenger was a Moor of Granada,
named Hamet, whom Don Diego had formerly known: he contrived to
amuse him with negotiation to gain time for succor to arrive. The
fierce old Ali Atar, losing all patience, had made an assault upon
the town and stormed like a fury at the gate, but had been repulsed.
Another and more serious attack was expected in the course of
the night.

64
 When the count de Cabra had heard this account of the situation of
affairs, he turned to his nephew with his usual alacrity of manner,
and proposed that they should immediately sally forth in quest of
the enemy. The prudent Don Diego remonstrated at the rashness
of attacking so great a force with a mere handful of men. ”Nephew,”
said the count, ”I came from Vaena with a determination to fight
this Moorish king, and I will not be disappointed.”

”At any rate,” replied Don Diego, ”let us wait but two hours, and we
shall have reinforcements which have been promised me from Rambla,
Santaella, Montilla, and other places in the neighborhood.” ”If we
await these,” said the hardy count, ”the Moors will be off, and all our
trouble will have been in vain. You may await them if you please; I
am resolved on fighting.”

The count paused for no reply, but in his prompt and rapid manner
sallied forth to his men. The young alcayde de los Donceles, though
more prudent than his ardent uncle, was equally brave; he determined
to stand by him in his rash enterprise, and, summoning his little force,
marched forth to join the count, who was already on the move. They
then proceeded together in quest of the enemy.

The Moorish army had ceased ravaging the country, and was not to
be seen, the neighborhood being hilly and broken with deep ravines.
The count despatched six scouts on horseback to reconnoitre, ordering
them to return with all speed on discovering the enemy, and by
no means to engage in skirmishing with stragglers. The scouts,
ascending a high hill, beheld the Moorish army in a valley behind
it, the cavalry ranged in five battalions keeping guard, while the
foot-soldiers were seated on the grass making a repast. They
returned immediately with the intelligence.

The count now ordered the troops to march in the direction of the
enemy. He and his nephew ascended the hill, and saw that the five
battalions of Moorish cavalry had been formed into two, one of about
nine hundred lances, the other of about six hundred. The whole force
seemed prepared to march for the frontier. The foot-soldiers were
already under way with many prisoners and a great train of mules
and beasts of burden laden with booty. At a distance was Boabdil
el Chico: they could not distinguish his person, but they knew him
by his superb black and white charger, magnificently caparisoned,
and by his being surrounded by a numerous guard sumptuously
armed and attired. Old Ali Atar was careering about the valley with
his usual impatience, hurrying the march of the loitering troops.

The eyes of the count de Cabra glistened with eager joy as he

beheld the royal prize within his reach. The immense disparity
of their forces never entered into his mind. ”By Santiago!” said
he to his nephew as they hastened down the hill, ”had we waited

65
for more forces the Moorish king and his army would have escaped us.”

The count now harangued his men to inspirit them to this hazardous
encounter. He told them not to be dismayed at the number of the
Moors, for God often permitted the few to conquer the many, and he
had great confidence that through the divine aid they were that day
to achieve a signal victory which should win them both riches and
renown. He commanded that no man should hurl his lance at the
enemy, but should keep it in his hands and strike as many blows
with it as he could. He warned them also never to shout except
when the Moors did, for when both armies shouted together there
was no perceiving which made the most noise and was the strongest.
He desired his uncle Lope de Mendoza, and Diego de Cabrera, alcayde
of Dona Mencia, to alight and enter on foot in the battalion of infantry
to animate them to the combat. He appointed also the alcayde of
Vaena and Diego de Clavijo, a cavalier of his household, to remain
in the rear, and not to permit any one to lag behind, either to despoil
the dead or for any other purpose.

Such were the orders given by this most adroit, active, and intrepid
cavalier to his little army, supplying by admirable sagacity and
subtle management the want of a more numerous force. His orders
being given and all arrangements made, he threw aside his lance,
drew his sword, and commanded his standard to be advanced against
the enemy.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE BATTLE OF LUCENA.

The Moorish king had descried the Spanish forces at a distance,

although a slight fog prevented his seeing them distinctly and
ascertaining their numbers. His old father-in-law, Ali Atar, was by
his side, who, being a veteran marauder, was well acquainted with
all the standards and armorial bearings of the frontiers. When the
king beheld the ancient and long-disused banner of Cabra emerging
from the mist, he turned to Ali Atar and demanded whose ensign it
was. The old borderer was for once at a loss, for the banner had not
been displayed in battle in his time. ”In truth,” replied he, after a
pause, ”I have been considering that standard for some time, but
I confess I do not know it. It cannot be the ensign of any single
commander or community, for none would venture single-handed
to attack you. It appears to be a dog, which device is borne by the
towns of Baeza and Ubeda. If it be so, all Andalusia is in movement
against you, and I would advise you to retire.”

66
 The count de Cabra, in winding down the hill toward the Moors,
found himself on much lower ground than the enemy: he ordered
in all haste that his standard should be taken back, so as to gain
the vantage- ground. The Moors, mistaking this for a retreat, rushed
impetuously toward the Christians. The latter, having gained the
height proposed, charged upon them at the same moment with the
battle-cry of ”Santiago!” and, dealing the first blows, laid many of
the Moorish cavaliers in the dust.

The Moors, thus checked in their tumultuous assault, were thrown

into confusion, and began to give way, the Christians following
hard upon them. Boabdil el Chico endeavored to rally them. ”Hold!
hold! for shame!” cried he; ”let us not fly, at least until we know
our enemy.” The Moorish chivalry were stung by this reproof, and
turned to make front with the valor of men who feel that they are
fighting under their monarch’s eye.

At this moment, Lorenzo de Porres, alcayde of Luque, arrived with

fifty horse and one hundred foot, sounding an Italian trumpet from
among a copse of oak trees which concealed his force. The quick ear
of old Ali Atar caught the note. ”That is an Italian trumpet,” said he
to the king; ”the whole world seems in arms against Your Highness!”

The trumpet of Lorenzo de Porres was answered by that of the

count de Cabra in another direction, and it seemed to the Moors
as if they were between two armies. Don Lorenzo, sallying from
among the oaks, now charged upon the enemy: the latter did not
wait to ascertain the force of this new foe; the confusion, the
variety of alarums, the attacks from opposite quarters, the obscurity
of the fog, all conspired to deceive them as to the number of their
adversaries. Broken and dismayed, they retreated fighting, and
nothing but the presence and remonstrances of the king prevented
their retreat from becoming a headlong flight. If Boabdil had
displayed little of the talents of a general in the outset of his
enterprise, he manifested courage and presence of mind amid the
disasters of its close. Seconded by a small body of cavalry, the
choicest and most loyal of his guards, he made repeated stand
against the press of the foe in a skirmishing retreat of about three
leagues, and the way was strewn with the flower of his chivalry.
At length they came to the brook of Martin Gonzales (or Mingozales,
as it is called by the Moorish chroniclers), which, swollen by recent
rain, was now a deep and turbid torrent. Here a scene of confusion
ensued. Horse and foot precipitated themselves into the stream.
Some of the horses stuck fast in the mire and blocked up the ford;
others trampled down the foot-soldiers; many were drowned and
more carried down the stream. Such of the foot-soldiers as gained
the opposite side immediately took to flight; the horsemen, too, who
had struggled through the stream, gave reins to their steeds and
scoured for the frontier.

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 The little band of devoted cavaliers about the king serried their
forces to keep the enemy in check, fighting with them hand to hand
until he should have time to cross. In the tumult his horse was
shot down, and he became environed in the throng of foot-soldiers
struggling forward to the ford and in peril from the lances of their
pursuers. Conscious that his rich array made him a conspicuous
object, he retreated along the bank of the river, and endeavored
to conceal himself in a thicket of willows and tamarisks. Thence,
looking back, he beheld his loyal band at length give way,
supposing, no doubt, he had effected his escape. They crossed
the ford, followed pell-mell by the enemy, and several of them
were struck down in the stream.

While Boabdil was meditating to throw himself into the water and
endeavor to swim across, he was discovered by Martin Hurtado,
regidor of Lucena, a brave cavalier who had been captive in the
prisons of Granada and exchanged for a Christian knight. Hurtado
attacked the king with a pike, but was kept at bay until, seeing
other soldiers approaching, Boabdil cried for quarter, proclaiming
himself a person of high rank who would pay a noble ransom. At
this moment came up several men of Vaena, of the troop of the count
de Cabra. Hearing the talk of ransom and noticing the splendid attire
of the Moor, they endeavored to secure for themselves so rich a
prize. One of them seized hold of Boabdil, but the latter resented
the indignity by striking him to the earth with a blow of his
poniard. Others of Hurtado’s townsmen coming up, a contest arose
between the men of Lucena and Vaena as to who had a right to the
prisoner. The noise brought Don Diego Fernandez de Cordova to
the spot, who by his authority put an end to the altercation.
Boabdil, finding himself unknown by all present, concealed his
quality, giving himself out as the son of Aben Alnayer, a cavalier of
the royal household. Don Diego treated him with great courtesy,
put a red band round his neck in sign of his being a captive, and
sent him under an escort to the castle of Lucena where his quality
would be ascertained, his ransom arranged, and the question settled
as to who had made him prisoner.

Garibay, lib. 40, cap 31.

This done, the count put spurs to his horse and hastened to rejoin
the count de Cabra, who was in hot pursuit of the enemy. He overtook
him at a stream called Reanaul, and they continued together to press
on the skirts of the flying army during the remainder of the day. The
pursuit was almost as hazardous as the battle, for had the enemy
at any time recovered from their panic, they might, by a sudden
reaction, have overwhelmed the small force of their pursuers. To
guard against this peril, the wary count kept his battalion always
in close order, and had a body of a hundred chosen lancers in the
advance. The Moors kept up a Parthian retreat; several times
they turned to make battle, but, seeing this solid body of steeled

68
warriors pressing upon them, they again took to flight.

The main retreat of the army was along the valley watered by the
Xenil and opening through the mountains of Algaringo to the city
of Loxa. The alarm-fires of the preceding night had aroused the
country; every man snatched sword and buckler from the wall, and
the towns and villages poured forth their warriors to harass the
retreating foe. Ali Atar kept the main force of the army together,
and turned fiercely from time to time upon his pursuers: he was like
a wolf hunted through the country he had often made desolate by
his maraudings.

The alarm of this invasion had reached the city of Antiquera, where
were several of the cavaliers who had escaped from the carnage
in the mountains of Malaga. Their proud minds were festering with
their late disgrace, and their only prayer was for vengeance on the
infidels. No sooner did they hear of the Moor being over the border
than they were armed and mounted for action. Don Alonso de Aguilar
led them forth–a small body of but forty horsemen, but all cavaliers
of prowess and thirsting for revenge. They came upon the foe on
the banks of the Xenil where it winds through the valleys of Cordova.
The river, swelled by the late rains, was deep and turbulent and only
fordable at certain places. The main body of the army was gathered
in confusion on the banks, endeavoring to ford the stream, protected
by the cavalry of Ali Atar.

No sooner did the little band of Alonso de Aguilar come in sight of

the Moors than fury flashed from their eyes. ”Remember the mountains
of Malaga!” cried they to each other as they rushed to combat. Their
charge was desperate, but was gallantly resisted. A scrambling and
bloody fight ensued, hand to hand and sword to sword, sometimes on
land, sometimes in the water. Many were lanced on the banks; others,
throwing themselves into the river, sank with the weight of their armor
and were drowned; some, grappling together, fell from their horses,
but continued their struggle in the waves, and helm and turban rolled
together down the stream. The Moors were far greater in number, and
among them were many warriors of rank; but they were disheartened
by defeat, while the Christians were excited even to desperation.

Ali Atar alone preserved all his fire and energy amid his reverses.
He had been enraged at the defeat of the army and the ignominious
flight he had been obliged to make through a country which had so
often been the scene of his exploits; but to be thus impeded in his
flight and harassed and insulted by a mere handful of warriors
roused the violent passions of the old Moor to perfect frenzy.
He had marked Don Alonso de Aguilar dealing his blows (says
Agapida) with the pious vehemence of a righteous knight, who
knows that in every wound inflicted upon the infidels he is doing God
service. Ali Atar spurred his steed along the bank of the river to
come upon Don Alonso by surprise. The back of the warrior was

69
toward him, and, collecting all his force, the Moor hurled his lance
to transfix him on the spot. The lance was not thrown with the
usual accuracy of Ali Atar: it tore away a part of the cuirass of
Don Alonso, but failed to inflict a wound. The Moor rushed upon
Don Alonso with his scimetar, but the latter was on the alert and
parried his blow. They fought desperately upon the borders of the
river, alternately pressing each other into the stream and fighting
their way again up the bank. Ali Atar was repeatedly wounded,
and Don Alonso, having pity on his age, would have spared his life:
he called upon him to surrender. ”Never,” cried Ali Atar, ”to a
Christian dog!” The words were scarce out of his mouth when the
sword of Don Alonso clove his turbaned head and sank deep into the
brain. He fell dead without a groan; his body rolled into the Xenil,
nor was it ever found or recognized. Thus fell Ali Atar, who had
long been the terror of Andalusia. As he had hated and warred
upon the Christians all his life, so he died in the very act of bitter
hostility.

Cura de los Palacios.

The fall of Ali Atar put an end to the transient stand of the cavalry.
Horse and foot mingled together in the desperate struggle across
the Xenil, and many were trampled down and perished beneath
the waves. Don Alonso and his band continued to harass them until
they crossed the frontier, and every blow struck home to the Moors
seemed to lighten the load of humiliation and sorrow which had
weighed heavy on their hearts.

In this disastrous rout the Moors lost upward of five thousand

killed and made prisoners, many of whom were of the most noble
lineages of Granada; numbers fled to rocks and mountains, where
they were subsequently taken.

Boabdil remained a prisoner in the state tower of the citadel of

Lucena under the vigilance of Alonso de Rueda, esquire of the
alcayde of the Donceles; his quality was still unknown until the
24th of April, three days after the battle. On that day some
prisoners, natives of Granada, just brought in, caught a sight of
the unfortunate Boabdil despoiled of his royal robes. Throwing
themselves at his feet, they broke forth in loud lamentations,
apostrophizing him as their lord and king.

Great was the astonishment and triumph of the count de Cabra and Don
Diego Fernandez de Cordova on learning the rank of the supposed
cavalier. They both ascended to the castle to see that he was lodged
in a style befitting his quality. When the good count beheld in the
dejected captive before him the monarch who had so recently appeared
in royal splendor surrounded by an army, his generous heart was
touched by sympathy. He said everything to comfort him that became
a courteous and Christian knight, observing that the same mutability

70
of things which had suddenly brought him low might as rapidly restore
him to prosperity, since in this world nothing is stable, and sorrow,
like joy, has its allotted term.

The action here recorded was called by some the battle of Lucena,
by others the battle of the Moorish king, because of the capture of
Boabdil. Twenty-two banners, taken on the occasion, were borne in
triumph into Vaena on the 23d of April, St. George’s Day, and hung
up in the church. There they remain (says a historian of after
times) to this day. Once a year, on the festival of St. George,
they are borne about in procession by the inhabitants, who at
the same time give thanks to God for this signal victory granted
to their forefathers.

Several circumstances relative to the capture of Boabdil vary in

this from the first edition, in consequence of later light thrown
on the subject by Don Miguel Lafuente Alcantara in his History of
Granada. He has availed himself much of various ancient documents
relative to the battle, especially the History of the House of
Cordova by the abbot of Rute, a descendant of that family–a rare
manuscript of which few copies exist.

The question as to the person entitled to the honor and reward for
having captured the king long continued a matter of dispute between
the people of Lucena and Vaena. On the 20th of October, 1520,
about thirty-seven years after the event, an examination of several
witnesses to the fact took place before the chief justice of the
fortress of Lucena, at the instance of Bartolomy Hurtado, the son of
Martin, when the claim of his father was established by Dona Leonora
Hernandez, lady in attendant on the mother of the alcayde of los
Donceles, who testified being present when Boabdil signalized Martin
Hurtado as his captor.

The chief honor of the day, and of course of the defeat and capture
of the Moorish monarch, was given by the sovereign to the count de
Cabra; the second to his nephew, Don Diego Fernandez de Cordova.

Among the curious papers cited by Alcantara is one existing in the

archives of the House of Medina Celi, giving the account of the
treasurer of Don Diego Fernandez as to the sums expended by his
lord in the capture of the king, the reward given to some soldiers
for a standard of the king’s which they had taken, to others for the
wounds they had received, etc.

Another paper speaks of an auction at Lucena on the 28th of April

of horses and mules taken in the battle. Another paper states the
gratuities of the alcayde of los Donceles to the soldiery–four
fanegas, or about four hundredweight, of wheat and a lance to each
horseman, two fanegas of wheat and a lance to each foot-soldier.

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CHAPTER XVII.

LAMENTATIONS OF THE MOORS FOR THE BATTLE OF LUCENA.

The sentinels looked out from the watch-towers of Loxa along

the valley of the Xenil, which passes through the mountains of
Algaringo. They looked to behold the king returning in triumph
at the head of his shining host, laden with the spoil of the
unbeliever. They looked to behold the standard of their warlike
idol, the fierce Ali Atar, borne by the chivalry of Loxa, ever
foremost in the wars of the border.

In the evening of the 21st of April they descried a single horseman

urging his faltering steed along the banks of the Xenil. As he drew
near they perceived, by the flash of arms, that he was a warrior,
and on nearer approach by the richness of his armor and the
caparison of his steed they knew him to be a warrior of rank.

He reached Loxa faint and aghast, his courser covered with foam and
dust and blood, panting and staggering with fatigue and gashed with
wounds. Having brought his master in safety, he sank down and died
before the gate of the city. The soldiers at the gate gathered round
the cavalier as he stood by his expiring steed: they knew him to be
Cidi Caleb, nephew of the chief alfaqui of the mosque in the Albaycin,
and their hearts were filled with fearful forebodings.

”Cavalier,” said they, ”how fares it with the king and army?”

He cast his hand mournfully toward the land of the Christians.

”There they lie!” exclaimed he. ”The heavens have fallen upon
them. All are lost! all dead!”

Bernaldez (Cura de los Palacios), Hist. de los Reyes Catol.,

MS., cap. 61.

Upon this there was a great cry of consternation among the people,
and loud wailings of women, for the flower of the youth of Loxa were
with the army.

An old Moorish soldier, scarred in many a border battle, stood leaning

on his lance by the gateway. ”Where is Ali Atar?” demanded he eagerly.
”If he lives the army cannot be lost.”

”I saw his helm cleft by the Christian sword; his body is floating
in the Xenil.”

When the soldier heard these words he smote his breast and threw
dust upon his head, for he was an old follower of Ali Atar.

72
 Cidi Caleb gave himself no repose, but, mounting another steed,
hastened toward Granada. As he passed through the villages and
hamlets he spread sorrow around, for their chosen men had followed
the king to the wars.

When he entered the gates of Granada and announced the loss of

the king and army, a voice of horror went throughout the city. Every
one thought but of his own share in the general calamity, and crowded
round the bearer of ill tidings. One asked after a father, another
after a brother, some after a lover, and many a mother after her
son. His replies all spoke of wounds and death. To one he replied,
”I saw thy father pierced with a lance as he defended the person
of the king;” to another, ”Thy brother fell wounded under the hoofs
of the horses, but there was no time to aid him, for the Christian
cavalry were upon us;” to another, ”I saw the horse of thy lover
covered with blood and galloping without his rider;” to another,
”Thy son fought by my side on the banks of the Xenil: we were
surrounded by the enemy and driven into the stream. I heard him
cry upon Allah in the midst of the waters: when I reached the other
bank he was no longer by my side.”

Cidi Caleb passed on, leaving all Granada in lamentation: he

urged his steed up the steep avenue of trees and fountains that
leads to the Alhambra, nor stopped until he arrived before the Gate
of Justice. Ayxa, the mother of Boabdil, and Morayma, his beloved
and tender wife, had daily watched from the Tower of Comares to
behold his triumphant return. Who shall describe their affliction
when they heard the tidings of Cidi Caleb? The sultana Ayxa spake
not much, but sat as one entranced. Every now and then a deep sigh
burst forth, but she raised her eyes to heaven. ”It is the will of
Allah!” said she, and with these words endeavored to repress the
agonies of a mother’s sorrow. The tender Morayma threw herself
on the earth and gave way to the full turbulence of her feelings,
bewailing her husband and her father. The high-minded Ayxa rebuked
the violence of her grief. ”Moderate these transports, my daughter,”
said she; ”remember magnanimity should be the attribute of princes:
it becomes not them to give way to clamorous sorrow, like common
and vulgar minds.” But Morayma could only deplore her loss with the
anguish of a tender woman. She shut herself up in her mirador, and
gazed all day with streaming eyes upon the Vega. Every object
recalled the causes of her affliction. The river Xenil, which ran
shining amidst groves and gardens, was the same on whose banks
had perished her father, Ali Atar; before her lay the road to Loxa,
by which Boabdil had departed, in martial state, surrounded by the
chivalry of Granada. Ever and anon she would burst into an agony
of grief. ”Alas! my father!” she would exclaim; ”the river runs smiling
before me that covers thy mangled remains; who will gather them to
an honored tomb in the land of the unbeliever? And thou, O Boabdil,
light of my eyes! joy of my heart! life of my life! woe the day and

73
woe the hour that I saw thee depart from these walls! The road by
which thou hast departed is solitary; never will it be gladdened by
thy return: the mountain thou hast traversed lies like a cloud in
the distance, and all beyond is darkness.”

The royal minstrels were summoned to assuage her sorrows:

they attuned their instruments to cheerful strains, but in a little
while the anguish of their hearts prevailed and turned their songs
to lamentations.

”Beautiful Granada!” exclaimed they, ”how is thy glory faded!

The flower of thy chivalry lies low in the land of the stranger; no
longer does the Vivarrambla echo to the tramp of steed and sound of
trumpet; no longer is it crowded with thy youthful nobles gloriously
arrayed for the tilt and tourney. Beautiful Granada! the soft note
of the lute no longer floats through thy moonlit streets; the
serenade is no more heard beneath thy balconies; the lively castanet
is silent upon thy hills; the graceful dance of the Zambra is no more
seen beneath thy bowers! Beautiful Granada! why is the Alhambra
so lorn and desolate? The orange and myrtle still breathe their
perfumes into its silken chambers; the nightingale still sings
within its groves; its marble halls are still refreshed with the
plash of fountains and the gush of limpid rills. Alas! alas! the
countenance of the king no longer shines within those halls!
The light of the Alhambra is set for ever!”

Thus all Granada, say the Arabian chroniclers, gave itself up to

lamentation; there was nothing but the voice of wailing from the
palace to the cottage. All joined to deplore their youthful monarch,
cut down in the freshness and promise of his youth; many feared
that the prediction of the astrologers was about to be fulfilled, and
that the downfall of the kingdom would follow the death of Boabdil;
while all declared that had he survived he was the very sovereign
calculated to restore the realm to its ancient prosperity and glory.

CHAPTER XVIII.

HOW MULEY ABUL HASSAN PROFITED BY THE MISFORTUNES OF

HIS SON BOABDIL.

An unfortunate death atones, with the world, for a multitude of

errors. While the populace thought their youthful monarch had
perished in the field nothing could exceed their grief for his loss
and their adoration of his memory; when, however, they learnt
that he was still alive and had surrendered himself captive to the
Christians, their feelings underwent an instant change. They decried

74
his talents as a commander, his courage as a soldier; they railed at
his expedition as rash and ill-conducted; and they reviled him for
not having dared to die on the field of battle, rather than
surrender to the enemy.

The alfaquis, as usual, mingled with the populace and artfully

guided their discontents. ”Behold,” exclaimed they, ”the prediction
is accomplished which was pronounced at the birth of Boabdil! He
has been seated on the throne, and the kingdom has suffered
downfall and disgrace by his defeat and captivity. Comfort yourselves,
O Moslems! The evil day has passed by; the prophecy is fulfilled:
the sceptre which has been broken in the feeble hand of Boabdil is
destined to resume its former sway in the vigorous grasp of Abul
Hassan.”

The people were struck with the wisdom of these words: they rejoiced
that the baleful prediction which had so long hung over them was at
an end, and declared that none but Muley Abul Hassan had the valor
and capacity necessary for the protection of the kingdom in this
time of trouble.

The longer the captivity of Boabdil continued, the greater grew

the popularity of his father. One city after another renewed
allegiance to him, for power attracts power and fortune creates
fortune. At length he was enabled to return to Granada and establish
himself once more in the Alhambra. At his approach his repudiated
spouse, the sultana Ayxa, gathered together the family and treasures
of her captive son, and retired, with a handful of the nobles, into
the Albaycin, the rival quarter of the city, the inhabitants of which
still retained feelings of loyalty to Boabdil. Here she fortified
herself and held the semblance of a court in the name of her son.
The fierce Muley Abul Hassan would have willingly carried fire and
sword into this factious quarter of the capital, but he dared not
confide in his new and uncertain popularity. Many of the nobles
detested him for his past cruelty, and a large portion of the soldiery,
besides many of the people of his own party, respected the virtues
of Ayxa la Horra and pitied the misfortunes of Boabdil.

Granada therefore presented the singular spectacle of two

sovereignties within the same city. The old king fortified himself
in the lofty towers of the Alhambra, as much against his own
subjects as against the Christians; while Ayxa, with the zeal of a
mother’s affection, which waxes warmer and warmer toward her
offspring when in adversity, still maintained the standard of
Boabdil on the rival fortress of the Alcazaba, and kept his powerful
faction alive within the walls of the Albaycin.

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CHAPTER XIX.

CAPTIVITY OF BOABDIL EL CHICO.

The unfortunate Boabdil remained a prisoner closely guarded, but

treated with great deference and respect, in the castle of Lucena,
where the noblest apartments were appointed for his abode. From the
towers of his prison he beheld the town below filled with armed men,
and the lofty hill on which it was built girdled by massive walls and
ramparts, on which a vigilant watch was maintained night and day.
The mountains around were studded with watch-towers overlooking
the lonely roads which led to Granada, so that a turban could not
stir over the border without the alarm being given and the whole
country put on the alert. Boabdil saw that there was no hope of
escape from such a fortress, and that any attempt to rescue him
would be equally in vain. His heart was filled with anxiety as he
thought on the confusion and ruin which his captivity must cause
in his affairs, while sorrows of a softer kind overcame his fortitude
as he thought on the evils it might bring upon his family.

A few days only had passed away when missives arrived from the
Castilian sovereigns. Ferdinand had been transported with joy at
hearing of the capture of the Moorish monarch, seeing the deep
and politic uses that might be made of such an event; but the
magnanimous spirit of Isabella was filled with compassion for
the unfortunate captive. Their messages to Boabdil were full of
sympathy and consolation, breathing that high and gentle courtesy
which dwells in noble minds.

This magnanimity in his foe cheered the dejected spirit of the

captive monarch. ”Tell my sovereigns, the king and queen,” said
he to the messenger, ”that I cannot he unhappy being in the power
of such high and mighty princes, especially since they partake so
largely of that grace and goodness which Allah bestows upon the
monarchs whom he greatly loves. Tell them, further, that I had long
thought of submitting myself to their sway, to receive the kingdom
of Granada from their hands in the same manner that my ancestor
received it from King John II., father to the gracious queen. My
greatest sorrow, in this my captivity, is that I must appear to do
that from force which I would fain have done from inclination.”

In the mean time, Muley Abul Hassan, finding the faction of his son
still formidable in Granada, was anxious to consolidate his power by
gaining possession of the person of Boabdil. For this purpose he
sent an embassy to the Catholic monarchs, offering large terms for
the ransom, or rather the purchase, of his son, proposing, among
other conditions, to release the count of Cifuentes and nine other
of his most distinguished captives, and to enter into a treaty of

76
confederacy with the sovereigns. Neither did the implacable father
make any scruple of testifying his indifference whether his son were
delivered up alive or dead, so that his person were placed assuredly
within his power.

The humane heart of Isabella revolted at the idea of giving up

the unfortunate prince into the hands of his most unnatural and
inveterate enemy: a disdainful refusal was therefore returned to
the old monarch, whose message had been couched in a vaunting spirit.
He was informed that the Castilian sovereigns would listen to no
proposals of peace from Muley Abul Hassan until he should lay down
his arms and offer them in all humility.

Overtures in a different spirit were made by the mother of Boabdil,

the sultana Ayxa la Horra, with the concurrence of the party which
still remained faithful to him. It was thereby proposed that Mahomet
Abdallah, otherwise called Boabdil, should hold his crown as vassal
to the Castilian sovereigns, paying an annual tribute and releasing
seventy Christian captives annually for five years; that he should,
moreover, pay a large sum upon the spot for his ransom, and at the
same time give freedom to four hundred Christians to be chosen by
the king; that he should also engage to be always ready to render
military aid, and should come to the Cortes, or assemblage of nobles
and distinguished vassals of the Crown, whenever summoned. His
only son and the sons of twelve distinguished Moorish houses were
to be delivered as hostages.

An embassy composed of the alcayde Aben Comixa, Muley, the royal

standard-bearer, and other distinguished cavaliers bore this
proposition to the Spanish court at Cordova, where they were
received by King Ferdinand. Queen Isabella was absent at the time.
He was anxious to consult her in so momentous an affair, or, rather,
he was fearful of proceeding too precipitately, and not drawing from
this fortunate event all the advantage of which it was susceptible.
Without returning any reply, therefore, to the mission, he ordered
that the captive monarch should be brought to Cordova.

The alcayde of the Donceles was the bearer of this mandate, and
summoned all the hidalgos of Lucena and of his own estates to
form an honorable escort for the illustrious prisoner. In this style
he conducted him to the capital. The cavaliers and authorities of
Cordova came forth to receive the captive king with all due
ceremony, and especial care was taken to prevent any taunt or
insult from the multitude, or anything that might remind him of his
humiliation. In this way he entered the once proud capital of the
Abda’rahmans, and was lodged in the house of the king’s major-
domo. Ferdinand, however, declined seeing the Moorish monarch.
He was still undetermined what course to pursue–whether to retain
him prisoner, set him at liberty on ransom, or treat him with politic
magnanimity; and each course would require a different kind of

77
reception. Until this point should be resolved, therefore, he gave
him in charge to Martin de Alarcon, alcayde of the ancient fortress
of Porcuna, with orders to guard him strictly, but to treat him with
the distinction and deference due unto a prince. These commands
were strictly obeyed: he was escorted, as before, in royal state,
to the fortress which was to form his prison, and, with the exception
of being restrained in his liberty, was as nobly entertained there
as he could have been in his regal palace at Granada.

In the mean time, Ferdinand availed himself of this critical moment,

while Granada was distracted with factions and dissensions, and
before he had concluded any treaty with Boabdil, to make a puissant
and ostentatious inroad into the very heart of the kingdom at the
head of his most illustrious nobles. He sacked and destroyed several
towns and castles, and extended his ravages to the very gates of
Granada. Muley Abul Hassan did not venture to oppose him. His
city was filled with troops, but he was uncertain of their affection.
He dreaded that should he sally forth the gates of Granada might be
closed against him by the faction of the Albaycin.

The old Moor stood on the lofty tower of the Alhambra (says Antonio
Agapida) grinding his teeth and foaming like a tiger shut up in
his cage as he beheld the glittering battalions of the Christians
wheeling about the Vega, and the standard of the cross shining forth
from among the smoke of infidel villages and hamlets. The most
Catholic king (continues Agapida) would gladly have continued
this righteous ravage, but his munitions began to fail. Satisfied,
therefore, with having laid waste the country of the enemy and
insulted Muley Abul Hassan in his very capital, he returned to
Cordova covered with laurels and his army laden with spoils, and
now bethought himself of coming to an immediate decision in regard
to his royal prisoner.

CHAPTER XX.

OF THE TREATMENT OF BOABDIL BY THE CASTILIAN SOVEREIGNS.

A stately convention was held by King Ferdinand in the ancient city

of Cordova, composed of several of the most reverend prelates and
renowned cavaliers of the kingdom, to determine upon the fate of the
unfortunate Boabdil.

Don Alonso de Cardenas, the worthy master of Santiago, was one of

the first who gave his counsel. He was a pious and zealous knight,
rigid in his devotion to the faith, and his holy zeal had been
inflamed to peculiar vehemence since his disastrous crusade among

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the mountains of Malaga. He inveighed with ardor against any
compromise or compact with the infidels: the object of this war,
he observed, was not the subjection of the Moors, but their utter
expulsion from the land, so that there might no longer remain a
single stain of Mahometanism throughout Christian Spain. He gave
it as his opinion, therefore, that the captive king ought not to be
set at liberty.

Roderigo Ponce de Leon, marques of Cadiz, on the contrary, spoke

warmly for the release of Boabdil. He pronounced it a measure of
sound policy, even if done without conditions. It would tend to keep
up the civil war in Granada, which was as a fire consuming the
entrails of the enemy, and effecting more for the interests of
Spain, without expense, than all the conquests of its arms.

The grand cardinal of Spain, Don Pedro Gonzalez de Mendoza,

coincided in opinion with the marques of Cadiz. Nay (added that
pious prelate and politic statesman), it would be sound wisdom to
furnish the Moor with men and money and all other necessaries to
promote the civil war in Granada: by this means would be produced
great benefit to the service of God, since we are assured by his
infallible word that ”a kingdom divided against itself cannot stand.”

Salazar, Cronica del Gran Cardinal, p. 188.

Ferdinand weighed these counsels in his mind, but was slow in coming
to a decision: he was religiously attentive to his own interests
(observes Fray Antonio Agapida), knowing himself to be but an
instrument of Providence in this holy war, and that, therefore, in
consulting his own advantage he was promoting the interests of
the faith. The opinion of Queen Isabella relieved him from his
perplexity. That high-minded princess was zealous for the promotion
of the faith, but not for the extermination of the infidels. The
Moorish kings had held their thrones as vassals to her progenitors:
she was content at present to accord the same privilege, and that
the royal prisoner should be liberated on condition of becoming a
vassal to the Crown. By this means might be effected the deliverance
of many Christian captives who were languishing in Moorish chains.

King Ferdinand adopted the magnanimous measure recommended by

the queen, but he accompanied it with several shrewd conditions,
exacting tribute, military services, and safe passages and
maintenance for Christian troops throughout the places which should
adhere to Boabdil. The captive king readily submitted to these
stipulations, and swore, after the manner of his faith, to observe
them with exactitude. A truce was arranged for two years, during
which the Castilian sovereigns engaged to maintain him on his throne
and to assist him in recovering all places which he had lost during
his captivity.

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 When Boabdil el Chico had solemnly agreed to this arrangement in the
castle of Porcuna, preparations were made to receive him in Cordova
in regal style. Superb steeds richly caparisoned and raiments of
brocade and silk and the most costly cloths, with all other articles
of sumptuous array, were furnished to him and to fifty Moorish
cavaliers who had come to treat for his ransom, that he might appear
in state befitting the monarch of Granada and the most distinguished
vassal of the Castilian sovereigns. Money also was advanced to
maintain him in suitable grandeur during his residence at the
Castilian court and his return to his dominions. Finally, it was
ordered by the sovereigns that when he came to Cordova all the
nobles and dignitaries of the court should go forth to receive him.

A question now arose among certain of those ancient and experienced

men who grow gray about a court in the profound study of forms and
ceremonials, with whom a point of punctilio is as a vast political
right, and who contract a sublime and awful idea of the external
dignity of the throne. Certain of these court sages propounded the
momentous question whether the Moorish monarch, coming to do
homage as a vassal, ought not to kneel and kiss the hand of the
king. This was immediately decided in the affirmative by a large
number of ancient cavaliers, accustomed (says Antonio Agapida)
to the lofty punctilio of our most dignified court and transcendent
sovereigns. The king, therefore, was informed by those who arranged
the ceremonials that when the Moorish monarch appeared in his
presence he was expected to extend his royal hand to receive the
kiss of homage.

”I should certainly do so,” replied King Ferdinand, ”were he at

liberty and in his own kingdom, but I certainly shall not do so,
seeing that he is a prisoner and in mine.”

The courtiers loudly applauded the magnanimity of this reply, though

many condemned it in secret as savoring of too much generosity
toward an infidel; and the worthy Jesuit, Fray Antonio Agapida,
fully concurs in their opinion.

The Moorish king entered Cordova with his little train of faithful
knights and escorted by all the nobility and chivalry of the
Castilian court. He was conducted with great state and ceremony
to the royal palace. When he came in presence of Ferdinand he knelt
and offered to kiss his hand, not merely in homage as his subject,
but in gratitude for his liberty. Ferdinand declined the token of
vassalage, and raised him graciously from the earth. An interpreter
began, in the name of Boabdil, to laud the magnanimity of the
Castilian monarch and to promise the most implicit submision.
”Enough!” said King Ferdinand, interrupting the interpreter in the
midst of his harangue: ”there is no need of these compliments. I
trust in his integrity that he will do everything becoming a good
man and a good king.” With these words he received Boabdil el

80
Chico into his royal friendship and protection.

CHAPTER XXI.

RETURN OF BOABDIL FROM CAPTIVITY.

In the month of August a noble Moor, of the race of the

Abencerrages, arrived with a splendid retinue at the city of
Cordova, bringing with him the son of Boabdil el Chico and other of
the noble youth of Granada as hostages for the fulfilment of the
terms of ransom. When the Moorish king beheld his son, his only
child, who was to remain in his stead a sort of captive in a hostile
land, he folded him in his arms and wept over him. ”Woe the day that
I was born!” exclaimed he, ”and evil the stars that presided at my
birth! Well was I called El Zogoybi, or the Unlucky, for sorrow is
heaped upon me by my father, and sorrow do I transmit to my son!”
The afflicted heart of Boabdil, however, was soothed by the kindness
of the Christian sovereigns, who received the hostage prince with a
tenderness suited to his age and a distinction worthy of his rank.
They delivered him in charge to the worthy alcayde Martin de
Alarcon, who had treated his father with such courtesy during his
confinement in the castle of Porcuna, giving orders that after the
departure of the latter his son should be entertained with great
honor and princely attention in the same fortress.

On the 2d of September a guard of honor assembled at the gate of

the mansion of Boabdil to escort him to the frontiers of his kingdom.
He pressed his child to his heart at parting, but he uttered not a
word, for there were many Christian eyes to behold his emotion. He
mounted his steed, and never turned his head to look again upon the
youth, but those who were near him observed the vehement struggle
that shook his frame, wherein the anguish of the father had wellnigh
subdued the studied equanimity of the king.

Boabdil el Chico and King Ferdinand sallied forth side by side from
Cordova, amidst the acclamations of a prodigious multitude. When
they were a short distance from the city they separated, with many
gracious expressions on the part of the Castilian monarch, and many
thankful acknowledgments from his late captive, whose heart had been
humbled by adversity. Ferdinand departed for Guadalupe, and Boabdil
for Granada. The latter was accompanied by a guard of honor, and the
viceroys of Andalusia and the generals on the frontier were ordered
to furnish him with escorts and to show him all possible honor on
his journey. In this way he was conducted in royal state through
the country he had entered to ravage, and was placed in safety in
his own dominions.

81
 He was met on the frontier by the principal nobles and cavaliers of
his court, who had been secretly sent by his mother, the sultana
Ayxa, to escort him to the capital. The heart of Boabdil was lifted
up for a moment when he found himself on his own territories,
surrounded by Moslem knights, with his own banners waving over his
head, and he began to doubt the predictions of the astrologers: he
soon found cause, however, to moderate his exultation. The royal
train which had come to welcome him was but scanty in number, and
he missed many of his most zealous and obsequious courtiers. He had
returned, indeed, to his kingdom, but it was no longer the devoted
kingdom he had left. The story of his vassalage to the Christian
sovereigns had been made use of by his father to ruin him with the
people. He had been represented as a traitor to his country, a
renegado to his faith, and as leagued with the enemies of both to
subdue the Moslems of Spain to the yoke of Christian bondage. In
this way the mind of the public had been turned from him; the
greater part of the nobility had thronged round the throne of his
father in the Alhambra; and his mother, the resolute sultana Ayxa,
with difficulty maintained her faction in the opposite towers
of the Alcazaba.

Such was the melancholy picture of affairs given to Boabdil by the

courtiers who had come forth to meet him. They even informed him
that it would be an enterprise of difficulty and danger to make his
way back to the capital and regain the little court which still
remained faithful to him in the heart of the city. The old tiger,
Muley Abul Hassan, lay couched within the Alhambra, and the walls
and gates of the city were strongly guarded by his troops. Boabdil
shook his head at these tidings. He called to mind the ill omen of
his breaking his lance against the gate of Elvira when issuing
forth so vaingloriously with his army, which he now saw clearly
had foreboded the destruction of that army on which he had so
confidently relied. ”Henceforth,” said he, ”let no man have the
impiety to scoff at omens.”

Boabdil approached his capital by stealth and in the night, prowling

about its walls like an enemy seeking to destroy rather than a
monarch returning to his throne. At length he seized upon a
postern-gate of the Albaycin, that part of the city which had always
been in his favor; he passed rapidly through the streets before the
populace were aroused from their sleep, and reached in safety the
fortress of the Alcazaba. Here he was received into the embraces of
his intrepid mother and his favorite wife Morayma. The transports of
the latter on the safe return of her husband were mingled with tears,
for she thought of her father, Ali Atar, who had fallen in his cause,
and of her only son, who was left a hostage in the hand of the
Christians.

The heart of Boabdil, softened by his misfortunes, was moved by

82
the changes in everything round him; but his mother called up his
spirit. ”This,” said she, ”is no time for tears and fondness. A
king must think of his sceptre and his throne, and not yield to
softness like common men. Thou hast done well, my son, in throwing
thyself resolutely into Granada: it must depend upon thyself whether
thou remain here a king or a captive.”

The old king, Muley Abul Hassan, had retired to his couch that night
in one of the strongest towers of the Alhambra, but his restless
anxiety kept him from repose. In the first watch of the night he
heard a shout faintly rising from the quarter of the Albaycin, which
is on the opposite side of the deep valley of the Darro. Shortly
afterward horsemen came galloping up the hill that leads to the main
gate of the Alhambra, spreading the alarm that Boabdil had entered
the city and possessed himself of the Alcazaba.

In the first transports of his rage the old king would have struck
the messenger to earth. He hastily summoned his counsellors and
commanders, exhorting them to stand by him in this critical moment,
and during the night made every preparation to enter the Albaycin
sword in hand in the morning.

In the mean time the sultana Ayxa had taken prompt and vigorous
measures to strengthen her party. The Albaycin was the part of
the city filled by the lower orders. The return of Boabdil was
proclaimed throughout the streets, and large sums of money were
distributed among the populace. The nobles assembled in the Alcazaba
were promised honors and rewards by Boabdil as soon as he should be
firmly seated on the throne. These well-timed measures had the
customary effect, and by daybreak all the motley populace of the
Albaycin were in arms.

A doleful day succeeded. All Granada was a scene of tumult and

horror. Drums and trumpets resounded in every part; all business
was interrupted; the shops were shut, the doors barricadoed. Armed
bands paraded the streets, some shouting for Boabdil, and some for
Muley Abul Hassan. When they encountered each other they fought
furiously and without mercy; every public square became a scene of
battle. The great mass of the lower orders was in favor of Boabdil,
but it was a multitude without discipline or lofty spirit: part of the
people were regularly armed, but the greater number had sallied
forth with the implements of their trade. The troops of the old king,
among whom were many cavaliers of pride and valor, soon drove
the populace from the squares. They fortified themselves, however,
in the streets and lanes, which they barricadoed. They made
fortresses of their houses, and fought desperately from the windows
and the roofs, and many a warrior of the highest blood of Granada
was laid low by plebeian hands and plebeian weapons in this
civic brawl.

83
 Conde, Domin. de los Arabes, p. 4, c. 37.

It was impossible that such violent convulsions should last long in

the heart of the city. The people soon longed for repose and a
return to their peaceful occupations, and the cavaliers detested
these conflicts with the multitude, in which were all the horrors
of war without its laurels. By the interference of the alfaquis an
armistice was at length effected. Boabdil was persuaded that there
was no dependence upon the inconstant favor of the multitude, and
was prevailed upon to quit a capital where he could only maintain a
precarious seat upon his throne by a perpetual and bloody struggle.
He fixed his court at the city of Almeria, which was entirely
devoted to him, and which at that time vied with Granada in splendor
and importance. This compromise of grandeur for tranquillity,
however, was sorely against the counsels of his proud-spirited
mother, the sultana Ayxa. Granada appeared, in her eyes, the only
legitimate seat of dominion, and she observed, with a smile of
disdain, that he was not worthy of being called a monarch who was
not master of his capital.

CHAPTER XXII.

FORAY OF THE MOORISH ALCAYDES, AND BATTLE OF LOPERA.

Though Muley Abul Hassan had regained undivided sway over the city
of Granada, and the alfaquis, by his command, had denounced his son
Boabdil as an apostate doomed by Heaven to misfortune, still the
latter had many adherents among the common people. Whenever,
therefore, any act of the old monarch was displeasing to the
turbulent multitude, they were prone to give him a hint of the
slippery nature of his standing by shouting out the name of Boabdil
el Chico. Long experience had instructed Muley Abul Hassan in the
character of the inconstant people over whom he ruled. ”A successful
inroad into the country of the unbelievers,” said he, ”will make
more converts to my cause than a thousand texts of the Koran
expounded by ten thousand alfaquis.”

At this time King Ferdinand was absent from Andalusia on a distant

expedition with many of his troops. The moment was favorable for a
foray, and Muley Abul Hassan cast about his thoughts for a leader to
conduct it. Ali Atar, the terror of the border, the scourge of
Andalusia, was dead, but there was another veteran general, scarce
inferior to him for predatory warfare. This was old Bexir, the gray
and crafty alcayde of Malaga, and the people under his command were
ripe for an expedition of the kind. The signal defeat and slaughter
of the Spanish knights in the neighboring mountains had filled the

84
people of Malaga with vanity and self-conceit. They had attributed
to their own valor the defeat caused by the nature of the country.
Many of them wore the armor and paraded in public with the horses
of the unfortunate cavaliers slain on that occasion, vauntingly
displaying them as trophies of their boasted victory. They had
talked themselves into a contempt for the chivalry of Andalusia, and
were impatient for an opportunity to overrun a country defended by
such troops. This Muley Abul Hassan considered a favorable state
of mind for a daring inroad, and sent orders to old Bexir to gather
together the choicest warriors of the borders and carry fire and
sword into the very heart of Andalusia. Bexir immediately despatched
his emissaries among the alcaydes of the border towns, calling upon
them to assemble with their troops at the city of Ronda.

Ronda was the most virulent nest of Moorish depredators in the whole
border country. It was situated in the midst of the wild Serrania,
or chain of mountains of the same name, which are uncommonly lofty,
broken, and precipitous. It stood on an almost isolated rock, nearly
encircled by a deep valley, or rather chasm, through which ran the
beautiful river called Rio Verde. The Moors of this city were the
most active, robust, and warlike of all the mountaineers, and their
very children discharged the crossbow with unerring aim. They
were incessantly harassing the rich plains of Andalusia; their city
abounded with Christian captives, who might sigh in vain for
deliverance from this impregnable fortress. Such was Ronda in the
time of the Moors, and it has ever retained something of the same
character, even to the present day. Its inhabitants continue to be
among the boldest, fiercest, and most adventurous of the Andalusian
mountaineers, and the Serrania de Ronda is famous as the most
dangerous resort of the bandit and the contrabandista.

Hamet Zeli, surnamed El Zegri, was the commander of this belligerent

city and its fierce inhabitants. He was of the tribe of the Zegries,
and one of the most proud and daring of that warlike race. Besides
the inhabitants of Ronda and some of his own tribe, he had a legion
of African Moors in his immediate service. They were of the tribe of
the Gomeres, so called from their native mountains–mercenary troops
whose hot African blood had not yet been tempered by the softer
living of Spain, and whose whole business was to fight. These he
kept always well armed and well appointed. The rich pasturage of
the valley of Ronda produced a breed of horses famous for strength
and speed; no cavalry, therefore, was better mounted than the band
of Gomeres. Rapid on the march, fierce in the attack, it would
sweep down upon the Andalusian plains like a sudden blast from
the mountains, and pass away as suddenly before there was time
for pursuit.

There was nothing that stirred up the spirit of the Moors of the
frontiers more thoroughly than the idea of a foray. The summons of
Bexir was gladly obeyed by the alcaydes of the border towns, and in

85
a little while there was a force of fifteen hundred horse and four
thousand foot, the very pith and marrow of the surrounding country,
assembled within the walls of Ronda. The people of the place
anticipated with eagerness the rich spoils of Andalusia soon to
crowd their gates; throughout the day the city resounded with the
noise of kettle-drum and trumpet; the high-mettled steeds stamped
and neighed in their stalls as if they shared the impatience for
the foray; while the Christian captives sighed as the varied din
of preparation reached their rocky dungeons, denoting a fresh
expedition against their countrymen.

The infidel host sallied forth full of spirits, anticipating an easy

ravage and abundant booty. They encouraged each other in a contempt
for the prowess of the foe. Many of the warriors of Malaga and of
some of the mountain-towns had insultingly arrayed themselves in the
splendid armor of the Christian knights slain or taken prisoners in
the famous massacre, and some of them rode the Andalusian steeds
captured on that occasion.

The wary Bexir concerted his plans so secretly and expeditiously

that the Christian towns of Andalusia had not the least suspicion
of the storm gathering beyond the mountains. The vast rocky range
of the Serrania de Ronda extended like a screen, covering all their
movements from observation.

The army made its way as rapidly as the rugged nature of the
mountains would permit, guided by Hamet el Zegri, the bold alcayde
of Ronda, who knew every pass and defile: not a drum nor the clash
of a cymbal nor the blast of a trumpet was permitted to be heard.
The mass of war rolled quietly on as the gathering cloud to the brow
of the mountains, intending to burst down like the thunderbolt upon
the plain.

Never let the most wary commander fancy himself secure from
discovery, for rocks have eyes, and trees have ears, and the birds
of the air have tongues, to betray the most secret enterprise. There
chanced at this time to be six Christian scouts prowling about the
savage heights of the Serrania de Ronda. They were of that kind of
lawless ruffians who infest the borders of belligerent countries,
ready at any time to fight for pay or prowl for plunder. The wild
mountain-passes of Spain have ever abounded with loose rambling
vagabonds of the kind–soldiers in war, robbers in peace, guides,

guards, smugglers, or cutthroats according to the circumstances of

the case.

These six marauders (says Fray Antonio Agapida) were on this

occasion chosen instruments, sanctified by the righteousness of
their cause. They were lurking among the mountains to entrap Moorish
cattle or Moorish prisoners, both of which were equally salable in

86
the Christian market. They had ascended one of the loftiest cliffs,
and were looking out like birds of prey, ready to pounce upon
anything that might offer in the valley, when they descried the
Moorish army emerging from a mountain-glen. They watched it as
it wound below them, remarking the standards of the various towns
and the pennons of the commanders. They hovered about it on its
march, skulking from cliff to cliff, until they saw the route by which it
intended to enter the Christian country. They then dispersed, each
making his way by the secret passes of the mountains to some
different alcayde, that they might spread the alarm far and wide,
and each get a separate reward.

One hastened to Luis Fernandez Puerto Carrero, the same valiant

alcayde who had repulsed Muley Abul Hassan from the walls of Alhama,
and who now commanded at Ecija in the absence of the master of
Santiago. Others roused the town of Utrera and the places of that
neighborhood, putting them all on the alert.

Pulgar, p. 3, c. 24; Cura de los Palacios, cap. 67.

Puerto Carrero was a cavalier of consummate vigor and activity.

He immediately sent couriers to the alcaydes of the neighboring
fortresses, to Herman Carrello, captain of a body of the Holy
Brotherhood, and to certain knights of the order of Alcantara.
Puerto Carrero was the first to take the field. Knowing the hard and
hungry service of these border scampers, he made every man take a
hearty repast and see that his horse was well shod and perfectly
appointed. Then, all being refreshed and in valiant heart, he
sallied forth to seek the Moors. He had but a handful of men, the
retainers of his household and troops of his captaincy, but they were
well armed and mounted, and accustomed to the sudden rouses of
the border–men whom the cry of ”Arm and out! to horse and to the
field!” was sufficient at any time to put in a fever of animation.

While the northern part of Andalusia was thus on the alert, one of
the scouts had hastened southward to the city of Xeres, and given
the alarm to the valiant marques of Cadiz. When the marques heard
that the Moor was over the border and that the standard of Malaga
was in the advance, his heart bounded with a momentary joy, for he
remembered the massacre in the mountains, where his valiant brothers
had been mangled before his eyes. The very authors of his calamity
were now at hand, and he flattered himself that the day of vengeance
had arrived. He made a hasty levy of his retainers and of the
fighting men of Xeres, and hurried off with three hundred horse
and two hundred foot, all resolute men and panting for revenge.

In the mean time, the veteran Bexir had accomplished his march, as
he imagined, undiscovered. From the openings of the craggy defiles
he pointed out the fertile plains of Andalusia, and regaled the eyes
of his soldiery with the rich country they were about to ravage. The

87
fierce Gomeres of Ronda were flushed with joy at the sight, and even
their steeds seemed to prick up their ears and snuff the breeze as
they beheld the scenes of their frequent forays.

When they came to where the mountain-defile opened into the low
land, Bexir divided his force into three parts: one, composed of
foot-soldiers and such as were weakly mounted, he left to guard the
pass, being too experienced a veteran not to know the importance of
securing a retreat; a second body he placed in ambush among the
groves and thickets on the banks of the river Lopera; the third,
consisting of light cavalry, he sent forth to ravage the Campina (or
great plain) of Utrera. Most of this latter force was composed of
the Gomeres of Ronda, mounted on the fleet steeds bred among the
mountains. It was led by Hamet el Zegri, ever eager to be foremost
in the forage. Little suspecting that the country on both sides was
on the alarm, and rushing from all directions to close upon them in
the rear, this fiery troop dashed forward until they came within two
leagues of Utrera. Here they scattered themselves about the plain,
careering round the great herds of cattle and flocks of sheep, and
sweeping them into droves to be hurried to the mountains.

While thus dispersed a troop of horse and body of foot from Utrera
came suddenly upon them. The Moors rallied together in small parties
and endeavored to defend themselves; but they were without a leader,
for Hamet el Zegri was at a distance, having, like a hawk, made a
wide circuit in pursuit of prey. The marauders soon gave way and
fled toward the ambush on the banks of the Lopera, being hotly
pursued by the men of Utrera.

When they reached the Lopera the Moors in ambush rushed forth
with furious cries, and the fugitives, recovering courage from this
reinforcement, rallied and turned upon their pursuers. The
Christians stood their ground, though greatly inferior in number.
Their lances were soon broken, and they came to sharp work with
sword and scimetar. The Christians fought valiantly, but were in
danger of being overwhelmed. The bold Hamet collected a handful of
his scattered Gomeres, left his prey, and galloped toward the scene
of action. His little troop of horsemen had reached the crest of a
rising ground at no great distance when trumpets were heard in
another direction, and Luis Fernandez Puerto Carrero and his
followers came galloping into the field, and charged upon the
infidels in flank.

The Moors were astounded at finding war thus breaking upon them from
various quarters of what they had expected to find an unguarded
country. They fought for a short time with desperation, and resisted
a vehement assault from the knights of Alcantara and the men-at-arms
of the Holy Brotherhood. At length the veteran Bexir was struck from
his horse by Puerto Carrero and taken prisoner, and the whole force
gave way and fled. In their flight they separated and took two roads

88
to the mountains, thinking by dividing their forces to distract the
enemy. The Christians were too few to separate. Puerto Carrero kept
them together, pursuing one division of the enemy with great
slaughter. This battle took place at the fountain of the fig tree,
near to the Lopera. Six hundred Moorish cavaliers were slain and
many taken prisoners. Much spoil was collected on the field, with
which the Christians returned in triumph to their homes.

The larger body of the enemy had retreated along a road leading
more to the south, by the banks of the Guadalete. When they reached
that river the sound of pursuit had died away, and they rallied to
breathe and refresh themselves on the margin of the stream. Their
force was reduced to about a thousand horse and a confused multitude
of foot. While they were scattered and partly dismounted on the
banks of the Guadalete a fresh storm of war burst upon them from
an opposite direction. It was the[4]marques of Cadiz, leading on his
household troops and the fighting men of Xeres. When the Christian
warriors came in sight of the Moors, they were roused to fury at
beholding many of them arrayed in the armor of the cavaliers who had
been slain among the mountains of Malaga. Nay, some who had been in
that defeat beheld their own armor, which they had cast away in their
flight to enable themselves to climb the mountains. Exasperated at
the sight they rushed upon the foe with the ferocity of tigers rather
than the temperate courage of cavaliers. Each man felt as if he were
avenging the death of a relative or wiping out his own disgrace. The
good marques himself beheld a powerful Moor bestriding the horse of
his brother Beltran: giving a cry of rage and anguish at the sight,
he rushed through the thickest of the enemy, attacked the Moor with
resistless fury, and after a short combat hurled him breathless to
the earth.

The Moors, already vanquished in spirit, could not withstand the

assault of men thus madly excited. They soon gave way, and fled
for the defile of the Serrania de Ronda, where the body of troops
had been stationed to secure a retreat. These, seeing them come
galloping wildly up the defile, with Christian banners in pursuit
and the flash of weapons at their deadly work, thought all Andalusia
was upon them, and fled without awaiting an attack. The pursuit
continued among glens and defiles, for the Christian warriors, eager
for revenge, had no compassion on the foe.

When the pursuit was over the marques of Cadiz and his followers
reposed themselves upon the banks of the Guadalete, where they
divided the spoil. Among this were found many rich corselets,
helmets, and weapons, the Moorish trophies of the defeat in the
mountains of Malaga. Several were claimed by their owners; others
were known to have belonged to noble cavaliers who had been slain or
taken prisoners. There were several horses also, richly caparisoned,
which had pranced proudly with the unfortunate warriors as they
sallied out of Antiquera upon that fatal expedition. Thus the

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exultation of the victors was dashed with melancholy, and many a
knight was seen lamenting over the helmet or corselet of some loved
companion-in-arms.

NOTE.–”En el despojo de la Batalla se vieron muchas ricas corazas

e capacetes, e barberas de las que se habian perdido en el Axarquia,
e otras muchas armas, e algunes fueron conocidas de sus duenos que
las habian dejado por fuir, e otras fueron conocidas, que eran mui
senaladas de hombres principales que habian quedado muertos e
cautivos, i fueron tornados muchos de los mismos Caballos con sus
ricas sillas, de los que quedaron en la Axerquia, e fueron concidos
cuios eran.”–”Cura de los Palacios,” cap. 67.

CHAPTER XXIII.

RETREAT OF HAMET EL ZEGRI, ALCAYDE OF RONDA.

The bold alcayde of Ronda, Hamet el Zegri, had careered wide over
the Campina of Utrera, encompassing the flocks and herds, when he
heard the burst of war at a distance. There were with him but a
handful of his Gomeres. He saw the scamper and pursuit afar off,
and beheld the Christian horsemen spurring madly toward the ambuscade
on the banks of the Lopera. Hamet tossed his hand triumphantly aloft
for his men to follow him. ”The Christian dogs are ours!” said he as
he put spurs to his horse to take the enemy in rear.

The little band which followed Hamet scarcely amounted to thirty

horsemen. They spurred across the plain, and reached a rising
ground just as the force of Puerto Carrero had charged, with
sound of trumpet, upon the flank of the party in ambush. Hamet
beheld the headlong rout of the army with rage and consternation.
He found the country was pouring forth its legions from every
quarter, and perceived that there was no safety but in precipitate
flight.

But which way to fly? An army was between him and the mountain-
pass; all the forces of the neighborhood were rushing to the borders;
the whole route by which he had come was by this time occupied by
the foe. He checked his steed, rose in the stirrups, and rolled a stern
and thoughtful eye over the country; then, sinking into his saddle,
he seemed to commune a moment with himself. Turning quickly to
his troop, he singled out a renegado Christian, a traitor to his
religion and his king. ”Come hither,” said Hamet. ”Thou knowest all
the secret passes of the country?”–”I do,” replied the renegado.–
”Dost thou know any circuitous route, solitary and untravelled,
by which we can pass wide within these troops and reach the Serrania?”

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–The renegado paused: ”Such a route I know, but it is full of peril,
for it leads through the heart of the Christian land.”–”’Tis well,”
said Hamet; ”the more dangerous in appearance, the less it will be
suspected. Now hearken to me. Ride by my side. Thou seest this purse
of gold and this scimetar. Take us, by the route thou hast mentioned,
safe to the pass of the Serrania, and this purse shall be thy reward;
betray us, and this scimetar shall cleave thee to the saddle-bow.”

Cura de los Palacios, ubi sup.

The renegado obeyed, trembling. They turned off from the direct road
to the mountains and struck southward toward Lebrixa, passing by
the most solitary roads and along those deep ramblas and ravines
by which the country is intersected. It was indeed a daring course.
Every now and then they heard the distant sound of trumpets and the
alarm-bells of towns and villages, and found that the war was still
hurrying to the borders. They hid themselves in thickets and in dry
beds of rivers until the danger had passed by, and then resumed
their course. Hamet el Zegri rode on in silence, his hand upon his
scimetar and his eye upon the renegado guide, prepared to sacrifice
him on the least sign of treachery, while his band followed, gnawing
their lips with rage at having thus to skulk through a country they
had come to ravage.

When night fell they struck into more practicable roads, always
keeping wide of the villages and hamlets, lest the watch-dogs should
betray them. In this way they passed in deep midnight by Arcos,
crossed the Guadalete, and effected their retreat to the mountains.
The day dawned as they made their way up the savage defiles. Their
comrades had been hunted up these very glens by the enemy. Every
now and then they came to where there had been a partial fight or
a slaughter of the fugitives, and the rocks were red with blood
and strewed with mangled bodies. The alcayde of Ronda was almost
frantic with rage at seeing many of his bravest warriors lying stiff
and stark, a prey to the hawks and vultures of the mountains. Now
and then some wretched Moor would crawl out of a cave or glen,
whither he had fled for refuge, for in the retreat many of the
horsemen had abandoned their steeds, thrown away their armor,
and clambered up the cliffs, where they could not be pursued by
the Christian cavalry.

The Moorish army had sallied forth from Ronda amidst shouts and
acclamations, but wailings were heard within its walls as the
alcayde and his broken band returned without banner or trumpet and
haggard with famine and fatigue. The tidings of their disaster had
preceded them, borne by the fugitives of the army. No one ventured
to speak to the stern Hamet as he entered the city, for they saw a
dark cloud upon his brow.

It seemed (says the pious Antonio Agapida) as if Heaven meted

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out this defeat in exact retribution for the ills inflicted upon the
Christian warriors in the heights of Malaga. It was equally signal
and disastrous. Of the brilliant array of Moorish chivalry which had
descended so confidently into Andalusia, not more than two hundred
escaped. The choicest troops of the frontier were either taken or
destroyed, the Moorish garrisons enfeebled, and many alcaydes
and cavaliers of noble lineage carried into captivity, who were
afterward obliged to redeem themselves with heavy ransoms.

This was called the battle of Lopera, and was fought on the 17th of
September, 1483. Ferdinand and Isabella were at Vittoria in Old
Castile when they received news of the victory and the standards
taken from the enemy. They celebrated the event with processions,
illuminations, and other festivities. Ferdinand sent to the marques
of Cadiz the royal raiment which he had worn on that day, and
conferred on him and all those who should inherit his title the
privilege of wearing royal robes on our Lady’s Day in September
in commemoration of this victory.

Mariana, Abarca, Zurita, Pulgar, etc.

Queen Isabella was equally mindful of the great services of Don Luis
Fernandez Puerto Carrero. Besides many encomiums and favors, she
sent to his wife the royal vestments and robe of brocade which she
had worn on the same day, to be worn by her during her life on the
anniversary of that battle.

CHAPTER XXIV.

OF THE RECEPTION AT COURT OF THE COUNT DE CABRA AND THE

ALCAYDE DE LOS DONCELES.

In the midst of the bustle of warlike affairs the worthy chronicler

Fray Antonio Agapida pauses to note, with curious accuracy, the
distinguished reception given to the count de Cabra and his nephew,
the alcayde de los Donceles, at the stately and ceremonious court of
the Castilian sovereigns, in reward for the capture of the Moorish
king Boabdil. The court (he observes) was held at the time in the
ancient Moorish palace of the city of Cordova, and the ceremonials
were arranged by that venerable prelate Don Pedro Gonzales de
Mendoza, bishop of Toledo and grand cardinal of Spain.

It was on Wednesday, the 14th of October (continues the precise

Antonio Agapida), that the good count de Cabra, according to
arrangement, appeared at the gate of Cordova. Here he was met by
the grand cardinal and the duke of Villahermosa, illegitimate brother

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of the king, together with many of the first grandees and prelates
of the kingdom. By this august train was he attended to the palace
amidst strains of martial music and the shouts of a prodigious
multitude.

When the count arrived in the presence of the sovereigns, who were
seated in state on a dais or raised part of the hall of audience,
they both arose. The king advanced exactly five steps toward the
count, who knelt and kissed his royal hand; however, the king would
not receive him as a mere vassal, but embraced him with affectionate
cordiality. The queen also advanced two steps, and received the
count with a countenance full of sweetness and benignity: after
he had kissed her hand the king and queen returned to their thrones,
and, cushions being brought, they ordered the count de Cabra to be
seated in their presence. This last circumstance is written in
large letters and followed by several notes of admiration in the
manuscript of the worthy Fray Antonio Agapida, who considers the
extraordinary privilege of sitting in presence of the Catholic
sovereigns an honor well worth fighting for.

The good count took his seat at a short distance from the king, and
near him was seated the duke of Najera, then the bishop of Palencia,
then the count of Aguilar, the count Luna, and Don Gutierre de
Cardenas, senior commander of Leon.

On the side of the queen were seated the grand cardinal of Spain,
the duke of Villahermosa, the count of Monte Rey, and the bishops
of Jaen and Cuenca, each in the order in which they are named. The
infanta Isabella was prevented by indisposition from attending the
ceremony.

And now festive music resounded through the hall, and twenty ladies
of the queen’s retinue entered, magnificently attired; upon which
twenty youthful cavaliers, very gay and galliard in their array,
stepped forth, and, each seeking his fair partner, they commenced
a stately dance. The court in the mean time (observes Fray Antonio
Agapida) looked on with lofty and becoming gravity.

When the dance was concluded the king and queen rose to retire to
supper, and dismissed the count with many gracious expressions. He
was then attended by all the grandees present to the palace of the
grand cardinal, where they partook of a sumptuous banquet.

On the following Saturday the alcayde de los Donceles was received

likewise with great honors, but the ceremonies were so arranged
as to be a degree less in dignity than those shown to his uncle,
the latter being considered the principal actor in this great
achievement. Thus the grand cardinal and the duke of Villahermosa
did not meet him at the gate of the city, but received him in the
palace and entertained him in conversation until summoned to

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the sovereigns.

When the alcayde de los Donceles entered the presence-chamber the

king and queen rose from their chairs, but without advancing. They
greeted him graciously, and commanded him to be seated next to the
count de Cabra.

The infanta Isabella came forth to this reception, and took her seat
beside the queen. When the court were all seated the music again
sounded through the hall, and the twenty ladies came forth as on the
preceding occasion, richly attired, but in different raiment. They
danced as before, and the infanta Isabella, taking a young Portuguese
damsel for a partner, joined in the dance. When this was concluded
the king and queen dismissed the alcayde de los Donceles with great
courtesy, and the court broke up.

The worthy Fray Antonio Agapida here indulges in a long eulogy

on the scrupulous discrimination of the Castilian court in the
distribution of its honors and rewards, by which means every smile
and gesture and word of the sovereigns had its certain value and
conveyed its equivalent of joy to the heart of the subject–a matter
well worthy the study (says he) of all monarchs, who are too apt
to distribute honors with a heedless caprice that renders them of
no avail.

On the following Sunday both the count de Cabra and the alcayde
de los Donceles were invited to sup with the sovereigns. The court
that evening was attended by the highest nobility, arrayed with that
cost and splendor for which the Spanish nobility of those days
were renowned.

Before supper there was a stately and ceremonious dance, befitting

the dignity of so august a court. The king led forth the queen in
grave and graceful measure; the count de Cabra was honored with
the hand of the infanta Isabella; and the alcayde de los Donceles
danced with a daughter of the marques de Astorga.

The dance being concluded, the royal party repaired to the

supper-table, which was placed on an elevated part of the saloon.
Here, in full view of the court, the count de Cabra and the alcayde
de los Donceles supped at the same table with the king, the queen,
and the infanta. The royal family were served by the marques of
Villena. The cup-bearer to the king was his nephew, Fadrigue de
Toledo, son to the duke of Alva. Don Alexis de Estaniga had the
honor of fulfilling that office for the queen, and Tello de Aguilar
for the infanta. Other cavaliers of rank and distinction waited on
the count and the alcayde de los Donceles. At one o’clock the two
distinguished guests were dismissed with many courteous expressions
by the sovereigns.

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 Such (says Fray Antonio Agapida) were the great honors paid at our
most exalted and ceremonious court to these renowned cavaliers,
but the gratitude of the sovereigns did not end here. A few days
afterward they bestowed upon them large revenues for life, and
others to descend to their heirs, with the privilege for them and
their descendants to prefix the title of Don to their names. They
gave them, moreover, as armorial bearings a Moor’s head crowned,
with a golden chain round the neck, in a sanguine field, and
twenty-two banners round the margin of the escutcheon. Their
descendants, of the houses of Cabra and Cordova, continue to bear
these arms at the present day in memorial of the victory of Lucena
and the capture of Boabdil el Chico.

The account given by Fray Antonio Agapida of this ceremonial, so

characteristic of the old Spanish court, agrees in almost every
particular with an ancient manuscript made up from the chronicles
of the curate of los Palacios and other old Spanish writers.

CHAPTER XXV.

HOW THE MARQUES OF CADIZ CONCERTED TO SURPRISE ZAHARA,

AND THE RESULT OF HIS ENTERPRISE.

The valiant Roderigo Ponce de Leon, marques of Cadiz, was one of

the most vigilant of commanders. He kept in his pay a number of
converted Moors to serve as adalides, or armed guides. These mongrel
Christians were of great service in procuring information. Availing
themselves of their Moorish character and tongue, they penetrated
into the enemy’s country, prowled about the castles and fortresses,
noticed the state of the walls, the gates, and towers, the strength
of their garrisons, and the vigilance or negligence of their
commanders. All this they minutely reported to the marques, who thus
knew the state of every fortress upon the frontier and when it might
be attacked with advantage. Besides the various town and cities over
which he held feudal sway, he had always an armed force about him
ready for the field. A host of retainers fed in his hall who were
ready to follow him to danger, and death itself, without inquiring
who or why they fought. The armories of his castles were supplied
with helms and cuirasses and weapons of all kinds, ready burnished
for use; and his stables were filled with hardy steeds that could
stand a mountain-scamper.

The marques was aware that the late defeat of the Moors on the banks
of the Lopera had weakened their whole frontier, for many of the
castles and fortresses had lost their alcaydes and their choicest
troops. He sent out his war-hounds, therefore, upon the range to

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ascertain where a successful blow might be struck; and they soon
returned with word that Zahara was weakly garrisoned and short
of provisions.

This was the very fortress which, about two years before, had been
stormed by Muley Abul Hassan, and its capture had been the first
blow of this eventful war. It had ever since remained a thorn in the
side of Andalusia. All the Christians had been carried away captive,
and no civil population had been introduced in their stead. There
were no women or children in the place. It was kept up as a mere
military post, commanding one of the most important passes of the
mountains, and was a stronghold of Moorish marauders. The
marques was animated by the idea of regaining this fortress for his
sovereigns and wresting from the old Moorish king this boasted
trophy of his prowess. He sent missives, therefore, to the brave
Luis Fernandez Puerto Carrero, who had distinguished himself in the
late victory, and to Juan Almaraz, captain of the men-at-arms of the
Holy Brotherhood, informing them of his designs, and inviting them
to meet him with their forces on the banks of the Guadalete.

It was on the day (says Fray Antonio Agapida) of the glorious

apostles St. Simon and Judas, the twenty-eighth of October, in the
year of grace one thousand four hundred and eighty-three, that this
chosen band of Christian soldiers assembled suddenly and secretly
at the appointed place. Their forces when united amounted to six
hundred horse and fifteen hundred foot. Their gathering-place was
at the entrance of the defile leading to Zahara. That ancient town,
renowned in Moorish warfare, is situated in one of the roughest
passes of the Serrania de Ronda. It is built round the craggy cone
of a hill, on the lofty summit of which is a strong castle. The
country around is broken into deep barrancas or ravines, some of
which approach its very walls. The place had until recently been
considered impregnable, but (as the worthy Fray Antonio Agapida
observes) the walls of impregnable fortresses, like the virtue of
self-confident saints, have their weak points of attack.

The marques of Cadiz advanced with his little army in the dead of
the night, marching silently into the deep and dark defiles of the
mountains, and stealing up the ravines which extended to the walls
of the town. Their approach was so noiseless that the Moorish
sentinels upon the walls heard not a voice or a footfall. The
marques was accompanied by his old escalador, Ortega de Prado,
who had distinguished himself at the scaling of Alhama. This hardy
veteran was stationed, with ten men furnished with scaling-ladders,
in a cavity among the rocks close to the walls. At a little distance
seventy men were hid in a ravine, to be at hand to second him when
he should have fixed his ladders. The rest of the troops were
concealed in another ravine commanding a fair approach to the gate
of the fortress. A shrewd and wary adalid, well acquainted with the
place, was appointed to give signals, and so stationed that he could

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be seen by the various parties in ambush, but not by the garrison.

By orders of the marques a small body of light cavalry passed along

the glen, and, turning round a point of rock, showed themselves
before the town: they[6]skirred the fields almost to the gates, as
if by way of bravado and to defy the garrison to a skirmish. The
Moors were not slow in replying to it. About seventy horse and a
number of foot who had guarded the walls sallied forth impetuously,
thinking to make easy prey of these insolent marauders. The Christian
horsemen fled for the ravine; the Moors pursued them down the hill,
until they heard a great shouting and tumult behind them. Looking
round toward the town, they beheld a scaling party mounting the
walls sword in hand. Wheeling about, they galloped for the gate:
the marques of Cadiz and Luis Fernandez Puerto Carrero rushed
forth at the same time with their ambuscade, and endeavored
to cut them off, but the Moors succeeded in throwing themselves
within the walls.

While Puerto Carrero stormed at the gate the marques put spurs to
his horse and galloped to the support of Ortega de Prado and his
scaling party. He arrived at a moment of imminent peril, when the
party was assailed by fifty Moors armed with cuirasses and lances,
who were on the point of thrusting them from the walls. The marques
sprang from his horse, mounted a ladder sword in hand, followed by
a number of his troops, and made a vigorous attack upon the enemy.
They were soon driven from the walls, and the gates and towers
remained in possession of the Christians. The Moors defended
themselves for a short time in the streets, but at length took
refuge in the castle, the walls of which were strong and capable of
holding out until relief should arrive. The marques had no desire
to carry on a siege, and he had not provisions sufficient for many
prisoners; he granted them, therefore, favorable terms. They were
permitted, on leaving their arms behind them, to march out with
as much of their effects as they could carry, and it was stipulated
that they should pass over to Barbary. The marques remained in
the place until both town and castle were put in a perfect state of
defence and strongly garrisoned.

Cura de los Palacios, c. 68.

Thus did Zahara return once more in possession of the Christians, to

the great confusion of old Muley Abul Hassan, who, having paid the
penalty of his ill-timed violence, was now deprived of its vaunted
fruits. The Castilian sovereigns were so gratified by this
achievement of the valiant Ponce de Leon that they authorized
him thenceforth to entitle himself duke of Cadiz and marques of
Zahara. The warrior, however, was so proud of the original title
under which he had so often signalized himself that he gave it the
precedence, and always signed himself marques, duke of Cadiz. As
the reader may have acquired the same predilection, we shall continue

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to call him by his ancient title.

CHAPTER XXVI.

OF THE FORTRESS OF ALHAMA, AND HOW WISELY IT WAS GOV-

ERNED
BY THE COUNT DE TENDILLA.

In this part of his chronicle the worthy father Fray Antonio Agapida
indulges in triumphant exultation over the downfall of Zahara.
Heaven sometimes speaks (says he) through the mouths of false
prophets for the confusion of the wicked. By the fall of this fortress
was the prediction of the santon of Granada in some measure
fulfilled, that ”the ruins of Zahara should fall upon the heads of
the infidels.”

Our zealous chronicler scoffs at the Moorish alcayde who lost his
fortress by surprise in broad daylight, and contrasts the vigilance
of the Christian governor of Alhama, the town taken in retaliation
for the storming of Zahara.

The important post of Alhama was at this time confided by King

Ferdinand to Don Inigo Lopez de Mendoza, count of Tendilla, a
cavalier of noble blood, brother to the grand cardinal of Spain. He
had been instructed by the king not merely to maintain his post, but
also to make sallies and lay waste the surrounding country. His
fortress was critically situated. It was within seven leagues of
Granada, and at no great distance from the warlike city of Loxa. It
was nestled in the lap of the mountains commanding the high-road
to Malaga and a view over the extensive Vega. Thus situated, in the
heart of the enemy’s country, surrounded by foes ready to assail him
and a rich country for him to ravage, it behooved this cavalier to
be for ever on the alert. He was in fact an experienced veteran, a
shrewd and wary officer, and a commander amazingly prompt and
fertile in expedients.

On assuming the command he found that the garrison consisted but of

one thousand men, horse and foot. They were hardy troops, seasoned
in rough mountain-campaigning, but reckless and dissolute, as
soldiers are apt to be when accustomed to predatory warfare. They
would fight hard for booty, and then gamble it heedlessly away or
squander it in licentious revelling. Alhama abounded with hawking,
sharping, idle hangers-on, eager to profit by the vices and follies
of the garrison. The soldiers were oftener gambling and dancing
beneath the walls than keeping watch upon the battlements, and
nothing was heard from morning till night but the noisy contests of

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cards and dice, mingled with the sound of the bolero or fandango,
the drowsy strumming of the guitar, and the rattling of the castanets,
while often the whole was interrupted by the loud brawl and fierce
and bloody contest.

The count of Tendilla set himself vigorously to reform these

excesses: he knew that laxity of morals is generally attended
by neglect of duty, and that the least breach of discipline in the
exposed situation of his fortress might be fatal. ”Here is but a
handful of men,” said he; ”it is necessary that each man should
be a hero.”

He endeavored to awaken a proper ambition in the minds of his

soldiers and to instil into them the high principles of chivalry. ”A
just war,” he observed, ”is often rendered wicked and disastrous by
the manner in which it is conducted; for the righteousness of the
cause is not sufficient to sanction the profligacy of the means, and
the want of order and subordination among the troops may bring ruin
and disgrace upon the best-concerted plans.” But we cannot describe
the character and conduct of this renowned commander in more
forcible language than that of Fray Antonio Agapida, excepting that
the pious father places in the foreground of his virtues his hatred
of the Moors. ”The count de Tendilla,” says he, ”was a mirror of
Christian knighthood–watchful, abstemious, chaste, devout, and
thoroughly filled with the spirit of the cause. He labored
incessantly and strenuously for the glory of the faith and the
prosperity of their most Catholic majesties; and, above all, he
hated the infidels with a pure and holy hatred. This worthy cavalier
discountenanced all idleness, rioting, chambering, and wantonness
among his soldiery. He kept them constantly to the exercise of arms,
making them adroit in the use of their weapons and management of
their steeds, and prompt for the field at a moment’s notice. He
permitted no sound of lute or harp or song or other loose minstrelsy
to be heard in his fortress, debauching the ear and softening the
valor of the soldier; no other music was allowed but the wholesome
rolling of the drum and braying of the trumpet, and such like
spirit-stirring instruments as fill the mind with thoughts of iron
war. All wandering minstrels, sharping peddlers, sturdy trulls, and
other camp trumpery were ordered to pack up their baggage, and
were drummed out of the gates of Alhama. In place of such lewd
rabble he introduced a train of holy friars to inspirit his people by
exhortation and prayer and choral chanting, and to spur them on to
fight the good fight of faith. All games of chance were prohibited
except the game of war, and this he labored, by vigilance and vigor,
to reduce to a game of certainty. Heaven smiled upon the efforts of
this righteous cavalier. His men became soldiers at all points and
terrors to the Moors. The good count never set forth on a ravage
without observing the rites of confession, absolution, and
communion, and obliging his followers to do the same. Their banners
were blessed by the holy friars whom he maintained in Alhama; and in

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 this way success was secured to his arms and he was enabled to lay
waste the land of the heathen.”

The fortress of Alhama (continues Fray Antonio Agapida) overlooked

from its lofty site a great part of the fertile Vega, watered by the
Cazin and the Xenil; from this he made frequent sallies, sweeping
away the flocks and herds from the pasture, the laborer from the
field, and the convoy from the road; so that it was said by the Moors
that a beetle could not crawl across the Vega without being seen
by Count Tendilla. The peasantry, therefore, were fain to betake
themselves to watch-towers and fortified hamlets, where they shut
up their cattle, garnered their corn, and sheltered their wives and
children. Even there they were not safe: the count would storm
these rustic fortresses with fire and sword, make captives of their
inhabitants, carry off the corn, the oil, the silks, and cattle, and
leave the ruins blazing and smoking within the very sight of Granada.

”It was a pleasing and refreshing sight,” continues the good father,
”to behold this pious knight and his followers returning from one of
these crusades, leaving the rich land of the infidel in smoking
desolation behind them; to behold the long line of mules and asses
laden with the plunder of the Gentiles–the hosts of captive Moors,
men, women, and children–droves of sturdy beeves, lowing kine, and
bleating sheep,–all winding up the steep acclivity to the gates of
Alhama, pricked on by the Catholic soldiery. His garrison thus
thrived on the fat of the land and the spoil of the infidel; nor was
he unmindful of the pious fathers whose blessings crowned his
enterprises with success. A large portion of the spoil was always
dedicated to the Church, and the good friars were ever ready at the
gate to hail him on his return and receive the share allotted them.
Besides these allotments, he made many votive offerings, either in
time of peril or on the eve of a foray, and the chapels of Alhama
were resplendent with chalices, crosses, and other precious gifts
made by this Catholic cavalier.”

Thus eloquently does the venerable Fray Antonio Agapida dilate in

praise of the good count de Tendilla; and other historians of equal
veracity, but less unction, agree in pronouncing him one of the
ablest of Spanish generals. So terrible, in fact, did he become
in the land that the Moorish peasantry could not venture a league
from Granada or Loxa to labor in the fields without peril of being
carried into captivity. The people of Granada clamored against
Muley Abul Hassan for suffering his lands to be thus outraged and
insulted, and demanded to have this bold marauder shut up in his
fortress. The old monarch was roused by their remonstrances. He
sent forth powerful troops of horse to protect the country during the
season that the husbandmen were abroad in the fields. These troops
patrolled in formidable squadrons in the neighborhood of Alhama,
keeping strict watch upon its gates, so that it was impossible for

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the Christians to make a sally without being seen and intercepted.

While Alhama was thus blockaded by a roving force of Moorish

cavalry, the inhabitants were awakened one night by a tremendous
crash that shook the fortress to its foundations. The garrison flew
to arms, supposing it some assault of the enemy. The alarm proved
to have been caused by the rupture of a portion of the wall, which,
undermined by heavy rains, had suddenly given way, leaving a large
chasm yawning toward the plain.

The count de Tendilla was for a time in great anxiety. Should this
breach be discovered by the blockading horsemen, they would arouse
the country, Granada and Loxa would pour out an overwhelming force,
and they would find his walls ready sapped for an assault. In this
fearful emergency the count displayed his noted talent for
expedients. He ordered a quantity of linen cloth to be stretched in
front of the breach, painted in imitation of stone and indented with
battlements, so as at a distance to resemble the other parts of the
walls: behind this screen he employed workmen day and night in
repairing the fracture. No one was permitted to leave the fortress,
lest information of its defenceless plight should be carried to the
Moor. Light squadrons of the enemy were seen hovering about the
plain, but never approached near enough to discover the deception;
and thus in the course of a few days the wall was rebuilt stronger
than before.

There was another expedient of this shrewd veteran which greatly

excites the marvel of Agapida. ”It happened,” he observes, ”that
this Catholic cavalier at one time was destitute of gold and silver
wherewith to pay the wages of his troops; and the soldiers murmured
greatly, seeing that they had not the means of purchasing
necessaries from the people of the town. In this dilemma what does
this most sagacious commander? He takes me a number of little
morsels of paper, on the which he inscribes various sums, large and
small, according to the nature of the case, and signs me them with
his own hand and name. These did he give to the soldiery in earnest
of their pay. ’How!’ you will say, ’are soldiers to be paid with
scraps of paper?’ Even so, I answer, and well paid too, as I will
presently make manifest, for the good count issued a proclamation
ordering the inhabitants of Alhama to take these morsels of paper
for the full amount thereon inscribed, promising to redeem them at a
future time with silver and gold, and threatening severe punishment
to all who should refuse. The people, having full confidence in his
word, and trusting that he would be as willing to perform the one
promise as he certainly was able to perform the other, took those
curious morsels of paper without hesitation or demur. Thus by a
subtle and most miraculous kind of alchymy did this Catholic
cavalier turn worthless paper into precious gold, and make his
late impoverished garrison abound in money!”

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 It is but just to add that the count de Tendilla redeemed his
promises like a loyal knight; and this miracle, as it appeared in
the eyes of Fray Antonio Agapida, is the first instance on record of
paper money, which has since inundated the civilized world with
unbounded opulence.

CHAPTER XXVII.

FORAY OF CHRISTIAN KNIGHTS INTO THE TERRITORY OF THE MOORS.

The Spanish cavaliers who had survived the memorable massacre

among the mountains of Malaga, although they had repeatedly
avenged the deaths of their companions, could not forget the horror
and humiliation of their defeat. Nothing would satisfy them but a
second expedition of the kind to carry fire and sword throughout a
wide part of the Moorish territories, and leave the region which had
triumphed in their disaster a black and burning monument of their
vengeance. Their wishes accorded with the policy of the king to
destroy the resources of the enemy; every assistance was therefore
given to their enterprise.

In the spring of 1484 the ancient city of Antiquera again resounded

with arms; numbers of the same cavaliers who had assembled there
so gayly the preceding year came wheeling into the gates with their
steeled and shining warriors, but with a more dark and solemn brow
than on that disastrous occasion, for they had the recollection of
their slaughtered friends present to their minds, whose deaths they
were to avenge.

In a little while there was a chosen force of six thousand horse and
twelve thousand foot assembled in Antiquera, many of them the very
flower of Spanish chivalry, troops of the established military and
religious orders and of the Holy Brotherhood.

Precautions had been taken to furnish this army with all things
needful for its perilous inroad. Numerous surgeons accompanied it,
who were to attend upon the sick and wounded without charge,
being paid for their services by the queen. Isabella also, in her
considerate humanity, provided six spacious tents furnished with
beds and all things needful for the wounded and infirm. These
continued to be used in all great expeditions throughout the war,
and were called the Queen’s Hospital. The worthy father, Fray
Antonio Agapida, vaunts this benignant provision of the queen as the
first introduction of a regular camp hospital in campaigning service.

Thus thoroughly prepared, the cavaliers issued forth from Antiquera

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in splendid and terrible array, but with less exulting confidence
and vaunting ostentation than on their former foray; and this was
the order of the army: Don Alonso de Aguilar led the advance guard,
accompanied by Don Diego Fernandez de Cordova, the alcayde de los
Donceles, and Luis Fernandez Puerto Carrero, count of Palma, with
their household troops. They were followed by Juan de Merlo, Juan
de Almara, and Carlos de Biezman of the Holy Brotherhood, with the
men-at-arms of their captaincies.

The second battalion was commanded by the marques of Cadiz and the
master of Santiago, with the cavaliers of Santiago and the troops of
the house of Ponce Leon; with these also went the senior commander
of Calatrava and the knights of that order, and various other
cavaliers and their retainers.

The right wing of this second battalion was led by Gonsalvo de

Cordova, afterward renowned as grand captain of Spain; the left by
Diego Lopez de Avila. They were accompanied by several distinguished
cavaliers and certain captains of the Holy Brotherhood with their
men-at-arms.

The duke of Medina Sidonia and the count de Cabra commanded the
third battalion, with the troops of their respective houses. They
were accompanied by other commanders of note with their forces.

The rear-guard was brought up by the senior commander and knights

of Alcantara, followed by the Andalusian chivalry from Xeres, Ecija,
and Carmona.

Such was the army that issued forth from the gates of Antiquera on
one of the most extensive ”talas,” or devastating inroads, that ever
laid waste the kingdom of Granada.

The army entered the Moorish territory by the way of Alora,

destroying all the cornfields, vineyards, and orchards and
plantations of olives round that city. It then proceeded through the
rich valleys and fertile uplands of Coin, Cazarabonela, Almexia, and
Cartama, and in ten days all those fertile regions were a smoking
and frightful desert. Hence it pursued its slow and destructive
course, like the stream of lava of a volcano, through the regions of
Pupiana and Alhendin, and so on to the vega of Malaga, laying waste
the groves of olives and almonds and the fields of grain, and
destroying every green thing. The Moors of some of those places
interceded in vain for their groves and fields, offering to deliver
up their Christian captives. One part of the army blockaded the
towns, while the other ravaged the surrounding country. Sometimes
the Moors sallied forth desperately to defend their property, but
were driven back to their gates with slaughter and their suburbs
pillaged and burnt. It was an awful spectacle at night to behold the
volumes of black smoke mingled with lurid flames rising from the

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burning suburbs, and the women on the walls of the town wringing
their hands and shrieking at the desolation of their dwellings.

The destroying army on arriving at the sea-coast found vessels lying

off shore laden with all kinds of provisions and munitions sent from
Seville and Xeres, and was thus enabled to continue its desolating
career. Advancing to the neighborhood of Malaga, it was bravely
assailed by the Moors of that city, and there was severe skirmishing
for a whole day; but, while the main part of the army encountered
the enemy, the rest ravaged the whole vega and destroyed all the
mills. As the object of the expedition was not to capture places, but
merely to burn, ravage, and destroy, the host, satisfied with the
mischief they had done in the vega, turned their backs upon Malaga
and again entered the mountains. They passed by Coin and
through the regions of Allazayna, and Gatero, and Alhaurin, all
which were likewise desolated. In this way did they make the circuit
of a chain of rich and verdant valleys, the glory of those mountains
and the pride and delight of the Moors. For forty days did they
continue on like a consuming fire, leaving a smoking and howling
waste to mark their course, until, weary with the work of
destruction, and having fully sated their revenge for the massacre
of the Axarquia, they returned in triumph to the meadows of
Antiquera.

In the month of June, King Ferdinand took command in person of this

destructive army; he increased its force, and added to its means of
mischief several lombards and other heavy artillery, intended for
the battering of towns and managed by engineers from France and
Germany. With these the[7]marques of Cadiz assured the king he
would soon be able to reduce the Moorish fortresses, which were
only calculated for defence against the engines anciently used in
warfare. Their walls and towers were high and thin, depending for
security on their rough and rocky situations. The stone and iron
balls thundered from the lombards would soon tumble them in ruins
upon the heads of their defenders.

The fate of Alora speedily proved the truth of this opinion. It was
strongly posted on a rock washed by a river. The artillery soon
battered down two of the towers and a part of the wall. The Moors
were thrown into consternation at the vehemence of the assault and
the effect of those tremendous engines upon their vaunted bulwarks.
The roaring of the artillery and the tumbling of the walls terrified
the women, who beset the alcayde with vociferous supplications
to surrender. The place was given up on the 20th of June, on
condition that the inhabitants might depart with their effects. The
people of Malaga, as yet unacquainted with the power of this
battering ordnance, were so incensed at those of Alora for what
they considered a tame surrender that they would not admit them
into their city.

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 A similar fate attended the town of Setenil, built on a lofty rock and
esteemed impregnable. Many times had it been besieged under
former Christian kings, but never taken. Even now, for several days
the artillery was directed against it without effect, and many of
the cavaliers murmured at the marques of Cadiz for having counselled
the king to attack this unconquerable place.

Cura de los Palacios.

On the same night that these reproaches were uttered the marques
directed the artillery himself: he levelled the lombards at the
bottom of the walls and at the gates. In a little while the gates
were battered to pieces, a great breach was effected in the walls,
and the Moors were fain to capitulate. Twenty-four Christian
captives, who had been taken in the defeat of the mountains of
Malaga, were rescued from the dungeons of this fortress, and hailed
the marques as their deliverer.

Needless is it to mention the capture of various other places which

surrendered without waiting to be attacked. The Moors had always
shown great bravery and perseverance in defending their towns;
they were formidable in their sallies and skirmishes, and patient in
enduring hunger and thirst when besieged; but this terrible
ordnance, which demolished their walls with such ease and rapidity,
overwhelmed them with dismay and rendered vain all resistance.
King Ferdinand was so struck with the effect of this artillery that
he ordered the number of lombards to be increased; and these
potent engines had henceforth a great influence on the fortunes
of this war.

The last operation of this year, so disastrous to the Moors, was an

inroad by Ferdinand, in the latter part of summer, into the Vega, in
which he ravaged the country, burnt two villages near to Granada,
and destroyed the mills near the very gates of the city.

Old Muley Abul Hassan was overwhelmed with dismay at the desolation
which during the whole year had raged throughout his territories and
had now reached the walls of his capital. His fierce spirit was
broken by misfortunes and infirmity; he offered to purchase a peace
and to hold his crown as a tributary vassal. Ferdinand would listen
to no propositions: the absolute conquest of Granada was the great
object of this war, and he was resolved never to rest content
without its complete fulfilment. Having supplied and strengthened
the garrisons of the places taken in the heart of the Moorish
territories, he enjoined their commanders to render every assistance
to the younger Moorish king in the civil war against his father. He
then returned with his army to Cordova in great triumph, closing a
series of ravaging campaigns which had filled the kingdom of Granada
with grief and consternation.

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CHAPTER XXVIII.

ATTEMPT OF EL ZAGAL TO SURPRISE BOABDIL IN ALMERIA.

During this year of sorrow and disaster to the Moors the younger
king, Boabdil, most truly called the Unfortunate, held a diminished
and feeble court in the maritime city of Almeria. He retained little
more than the name of king, and was supported in even this shadow
of royalty by the countenance and treasures of the Castilian
sovereigns. Still he trusted that in the fluctuation of events the
inconstant nation might once more return to his standard and replace
him on the throne of the Alhambra.

His mother, the high-spirited sultana Ayxa la Horra, endeavored to

rouse him from this passive state. ”It is a feeble mind,” said she,
”that waits for the turn of fortune’s wheel; the brave mind seizes
upon it and turns it to its purpose. Take the field, and you may
drive danger before you; remain cowering at home, and it besieges
you in your dwelling. By a bold enterprise you may regain your
splendid throne in Granada; by passive forbearance you will forfeit
even this miserable throne in Almeria.”

Boabdil had not the force of soul to follow these courageous

counsels, and in a little time the evils his mother had predicted
fell upon him.

Old Muley Abul Hassan was almost extinguished by age and paralysis.
He had nearly lost his sight, and was completely bedridden. His
brother, Abdallah, surnamed El Zagal, or the Valiant, the same who
had assisted in the massacre of the Spanish chivalry among the
mountains of Malaga, was commander-in-chief of the Moorish armies,
and gradually took upon himself most of the cares of sovereignty.
Among other things, he was particularly zealous in espousing his
brother’s quarrel with his son, and he prosecuted it with such
vehemence that many affirmed there was something more than
mere fraternal sympathy at the bottom of his zeal.

The disasters and disgraces inflicted on the country by the

Christians during this year had wounded the national feelings of
the people of Almeria, and many felt indignant that Boabdil should
remain passive at such a time, or, rather, should appear to make a
common cause with the enemy. His uncle Abdallah diligently fomented
this feeling by his agents. The same arts were made use of that
had been successful in Granada. Boabdil was secretly but actively
denounced by the alfaquis as an apostate leagued with the Christians
against his country and his early faith; the affections of the
populace and soldiery were gradually alienated from him, and a
deep conspiracy concerted for his destruction.

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 In the month of February, 1485, El Zagal suddenly appeared before
Almeria at the head of a troop of horse. The alfaquis were prepared
for his arrival, and the gates were thrown open to him. He entered
with his band and galloped to the citadel. The alcayde would have
made resistance, but the garrison put him to death and received El
Zagal with acclamations. The latter rushed through the apartments of
the Alcazar, but he sought in vain for Boabdil. He found the sultana
Ayxa la Horra in one of the saloons with Aben Haxig, a younger
brother of the monarch, and several Abencerrages, who rallied round
them to protect them. ”Where is the traitor Boabdil?” exclaimed El
Zagal.

”I know no traitor more perfidious than thyself,” exclaimed the

intrepid sultana; ”and I trust my son is in safety, to take
vengeance on thy treason.”

The rage of El Zagal was without bounds when he learnt that

his intended victim had escaped. In his fury he slew the prince
Aben Haxig, and his followers fell upon and massacred the
Abencerrages. As to the proud sultana, she was borne away prisoner
and loaded with revilings as having upheld her son in his rebellion
and fomented a civil war.

The unfortunate Boabdil had been apprised of his danger by a

faithful soldier just in time to make his escape. Throwing himself
on one of his fleetest horses and followed by a handful of
adherents, he galloped in the confusion out of the gates of Almeria.
Several of the cavalry of El Zagal, stationed without the walls,
perceived his flight and attempted to pursue him; their horses were
jaded with travel, and he soon left them far behind. But whither was
he to fly? Every fortress and castle in the kingdom of Granada was
closed against him; he knew not whom among the Moors to trust, for
they had been taught to detest him as a traitor and an apostate.
He had no alternative but to seek refuge among the Christians, his
hereditary enemies. With heavy heart he turned his horse’s head
toward Cordova. He had to lurk, like a fugitive, through a part of
his own dominions, nor did he feel himself secure until he had
passed the frontier and beheld the mountain-barrier of his country
towering behind him. Then it was that he became conscious of his
humiliated state–a fugitive from his throne, an outcast from his
nation, a king without a kingdom. He smote his breast in an agony
of grief. ”Evil indeed,” exclaimed he, ”was the day of my birth, and
truly I was named El Zogoybi, the Unlucky.”

He entered the gates of Cordova with downcast countenance and with

a train of but forty followers. The sovereigns were absent, but the
cavaliers of Andalusia manifested that sympathy in the misfortunes
of the monarch which becomes men of lofty and chivalrous souls. They
received him with great distinction, attended him with the utmost

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courtesy, and he was honorably entertained by the civil and military
commanders of that ancient city.

In the mean time, El Zagal put a new alcayde over Almeria to govern
in the name of his brother, and, having strongly garrisoned the
place, repaired to Malaga, where an attack of the Christians was
apprehended. The young monarch being driven out of the land, and the
old monarch blind and bedridden, El Zagal at the head of the armies
was virtually the sovereign of Granada. He was supported by the
brave and powerful families of the Alnayans and Vanegas; the people
were pleased with having a new idol to look up to and a new name to
shout forth; and El Zagal was hailed with acclamations as the main
hope of the nation.

CHAPTER XXIX.

HOW KING FERDINAND COMMENCED ANOTHER CAMPAIGN AGAINST

THE MOORS, AND HOW HE LAID SIEGE TO COIN AND CARTAMA.

The recent effect of the battering ordnance in demolishing the

Moorish fortresses induced King Ferdinand to procure a powerful
train for the campaign of 1485, intending to assault some of the
most formidable holds of the enemy.

An army of nine thousand cavalry and twenty thousand infantry

assembled at Cordova early in the spring, and the king took the
field on the 5th of April. It had been determined in secret council
to attack the city of Malaga, that ancient and important seaport on
which Granada depended for foreign aid and supplies. It was thought
proper previously, however, to get possession of various towns and
fortresses in the valleys of Santa Maria and Cartama, through which
pass the roads to Malaga.

The first place assailed was the town of Benamexi or Bonameji. It

had submitted to the Catholic sovereigns in the preceding year, but
had since renounced its allegiance. King Ferdinand was enraged at
the rebellion of the inhabitants. ”I will make their punishment,”
said he, ”a terror to others: they shall be loyal through force, if
not through faith.” The place was carried by storm: one hundred
and eight of the principal inhabitants were either put to the sword
or hanged on the battlements; the rest were carried into captivity.

Pulgar, Garibay, Cura de los Palacios.

The towns of Coin and Cartama were besieged on the same day– the
first by a division of the army led on by the marques of Cadiz; the

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second by another division commanded by Don Alonso de Aguilar
and Luis Fernandez Puerto Carrero, the brave senior of Palma. The
king, with the rest of the army, remained posted between the two
places to render assistance to either division. The batteries opened
upon both places at the same time, and the thunder of the lombards
was mutually heard from one camp to the other. The Moors made
frequent sallies and a valiant defence, but they were confounded by
the tremendous uproar of the batteries and the destruction of their
walls. In the mean time, the alarm-fires gathered together the
Moorish mountaineers of all the Serrania, who assembled in great
numbers in the city of Monda, about a league from Coin. They made
several attempts to enter the besieged town, but in vain: they were
each time intercepted and driven back by the Christians, and were
reduced to gaze at a distance in despair on the destruction of the
place. While thus situated there rode one day into Monda a fierce
and haughty Moorish chieftain at the head of a band of swarthy
African horsemen: it was Hamet el Zegri, the fiery-spirited alcayde
of Ronda, at the head of his band of Gomeres. He had not yet
recovered from the rage and mortification of his defeat on the banks
of the Lopera in the disastrous foray of old Bexir, when he had been
obliged to steal back furtively to his mountains with the loss of
the bravest of his followers. He had ever since panted for revenge.
He now rode among the host of warriors assembled at Monda. ”Who
among you,” cried he, ”feels pity for the women and children of Coin
exposed to captivity and death? Whoever he is, let him follow me,
who am ready to die as a Moslem for the relief of Moslems.” So
saying, he seized a white banner, and, waving it over his head, rode
forth from the town, followed by the Gomeres. Many of the warriors,
roused by his words and his example, spurred resolutely after his
banner. The people of Coin, being prepared for this attempt, sallied
forth as they saw the white banner and made an attack upon the
Christian camp, and in the confusion of the moment Hamet and his
followers galloped into the gates. This reinforcement animated the
besieged, and Hamet exhorted them to hold out obstinately in defence
of life and town. As the Gomeres were veteran warriors, the more
they were attacked the harder they fought.

At length a great breach was made in the walls, and Ferdinand, who
was impatient of the resistance of the place, ordered the duke of
Naxara and the count of Benavente to enter with their troops, and,
as their forces were not sufficient, he sent word to Luis de Cerda,
duke of Medina Celi, to send a part of his people to their assistance.

The feudal pride of the duke was roused at this demand. ”Tell my
lord the king,” said the haughty grandee, ”that I have come to
succor him with my household troops: if my people are ordered to any
place, I am to go with them; but if I am to remain in the camp, my
people must remain with me. For the troops cannot serve without
their commander, nor their commander without his troops.”

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 The reply of the high-spirited grandee perplexed the cautious
Ferdinand, who knew the jealous pride of his powerful nobles. In the
mean time, the people of the camp, having made all preparations for
the assault, were impatient to be led forward. Upon this Pero Ruyz
de Alarcon put himself at their head, and, seizing their mantas or
portable bulwarks, and their other defences, they made a gallant
assault and fought their way in at the breach. The Moors were so
overcome by the fury of their assault that they retreated, fighting,
to the square of the town. Pero Ruyz de Alarcon thought the place
was carried, when suddenly Hamet and his Gomeres came scouring
through the streets with wild war-cries, and fell furiously upon the
Christians. The latter were in their turn beaten back, and, while
attacked in front by the Gomeres, were assailed by the inhabitants
with all kinds of missiles from their roofs and windows. They at
length gave way and retreated through the breach. Pero Ruyz de
Alarcon still maintained his ground in one of the principal streets:
the few cavaliers that stood by him urged him to fly: ”No,” said he;
”I came here to fight, and not to fly.” He was presently surrounded
by the Gomeres; his companions fled for their lives: the last they
saw of him he was covered with wounds, but still fighting desperately
for the fame of a good cavalier.

Pulgar, part 3, cap. 42.

The resistance of the inhabitants, though aided by the valor of the

Gomeres, was of no avail. The battering artillery of the Christians
demolished their walls; combustibles thrown into their town set it
on fire in various places; and they were at length compelled to
capitulate. They were permitted to depart with their effects, and
the Gomeres with their arms. Hamet el Zegri and his African band
rode proudly through the Christian camp, nor could the Spanish
cavaliers refrain from regarding with admiration that haughty
warrior and his devoted and dauntless followers.

The capture of Coin was accompanied by that of Cartama: the

fortifications of the latter were repaired and garrisoned, but Coin,
being too extensive to be defended by a moderate force, its walls
were demolished. The siege of these places struck such terror into
the surrounding country that the Moors of many of the neighboring
towns abandoned their homes, and fled with such of their effects as
they could carry away, upon which the king gave orders to demolish
their walls and towers.

King Ferdinand now left his camp and his heavy artillery near
Cartama, and proceeded with his lighter troops to reconnoitre
Malaga. By this time the secret plan of attack arranged in the
council of war at Cordova was known to all the world. The vigilant
warrior, El Zagal, had thrown himself into the place, put all
the fortifications, which were of vast strength, into a state of
defence, and sent orders to the alcaydes of the mountain-towns

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to hasten with their forces to his assistance.

The very day that Ferdinand appeared before the place El Zagal
sallied forth to receive him at the head of a thousand cavalry, the
choicest warriors of Granada. A sharp skirmish took place among
the gardens and olive trees near the city. Many were killed on both
sides, and this gave the Christians a foretaste of what they might
expect if they attempted to besiege the place.

When the skirmish was over the marques of Cadiz had a private
conference with the king. He represented the difficulty of besieging
Malaga with their present force, especially as their plans had been
discovered and anticipated, and the whole country was marching to
oppose them. The marques, who had secret intelligence from all
quarters, had received a letter from Juceph Xerife, a Moor of Ronda
of Christian lineage, apprising him of the situation of that
important place and its garrison, which at that moment laid it open
to attack, and the marques was urgent with the king to seize upon
this critical moment, and secure a place which was one of the most
powerful Moorish fortresses on the frontiers, and in the hands of
Hamet el Zegri had been the scourge of Andalusia. The good marques
had another motive for his advice, becoming a true and loyal knight.
In the deep dungeons of Ronda languished several of his companion-
in-arms who had been captured in the defeat in the Axarquia. To
break their chains and restore them to liberty and light he felt to
be his peculiar duty as one of those who had most promoted that
disastrous enterprise.

King Ferdinand listened to the advice of the marques. He knew the

importance of Ronda, which was considered one of the keys to the
kingdom of Granada, and he was disposed to punish the inhabitants
for the aid they had rendered to the garrison of Coin. The siege of
Malaga therefore, was abandoned for the present, and preparations
made for a rapid and secret move against the city of Ronda.

CHAPTER XXX.

SIEGE OF RONDA.

The bold Hamet el Zegri, the alcayde of Ronda, had returned sullenly
to his stronghold after the surrender of Coin. He had fleshed his
sword in battle with the Christians, but his thirst for vengeance
was still unsatisfied. Hamet gloried in the strength of his fortress
and the valor of his people. A fierce and warlike populace was at
his command; his signal-fires could summon all the warriors of the
Serrania; his Gomeres almost subsisted on the spoils of Andalusia;

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and in the rock on which his fortress was built were hopeless
dungeons filled with Christian captives carried off by these war-
hawks of the mountains.

Ronda was considered as impregnable. It was situated in the heart of

wild and rugged mountains, and perched upon an isolated rock crested
by a strong citadel, with triple walls and towers. A deep ravine, or
rather a perpendicular chasm of the rocks, of frightful depth,
surrounded three parts of the city; through this flowed the Rio
Verde, or Green River. There were two suburbs to the city, fortified
by walls and towers, and almost inaccessible from the natural
asperity of the rocks. Around this rugged city were deep rich
valleys, sheltered by the mountains, refreshed by constant streams,
abounding with grain and the most delicious fruits, and yielding
verdant meadows, in which was reared a renowned breed of horses,
the best in the whole kingdom for a foray.

Hamet el Zegri had scarcely returned to Ronda when he received

intelligence that the Christian army was marching to the siege of
Malaga, and orders from El Zagal to send troops to his assistance.
Hamet sent a part of his garrison for that purpose; in the mean
time he meditated an expedition to which he was stimulated by pride
and revenge. All Andalusia was now drained of its troops; there was
an opportunity, therefore, for an inroad by which he might wipe out
the disgrace of his defeat at the battle of Lopera. Apprehending no
danger to his mountain-city, now that the storm of war had passed
down into the vega of Malaga, he left but a remnant of his garrison
to man its walls, and, putting himself at the head of his band of
Gomeres, swept down suddenly into the plains of Andalusia. He
careered, almost without resistance, over those vast campinas or
pasture-lands which formed a part of the domains of the duke of
Medina Sidonia. In vain the bells were rung and the alarm-fires
kindled: the band of Hamet had passed by before any force could
be assembled, and was only to be traced, like a hurricane, by the
devastation it had made.

Hamet regained in safety the Serrania de Ronda, exulting in

his successful inroad. The mountain-glens were filled with long
droves of cattle and flocks of sheep from the campinas of Medina
Sidonia. There were mules, too, laden with the plunder of the
villages, and every warrior had some costly spoil of jewels for his
favorite mistress.

As the Zegri drew near to Ronda he was roused from his dream of
triumph by the sound of heavy ordnance bellowing through the
mountain-defiles. His heart misgave him: he put spurs to his horse
and galloped in advance of his lagging cavalgada. As he proceeded
the noise of the ordnance increased, echoing from cliff to cliff.
Spurring his horse up a craggy height which commanded an extensive
view, he beheld, to his consternation, the country about Ronda white

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with the tents of a besieging army. The royal standard, displayed
before a proud encampment, showed that Ferdinand himself was
present, while the incessant blaze and thunder of artillery and the
volumes of overhanging smoke told the work of destruction that was
going on.

The royal army had succeeded in coming upon Ronda by surprise

during the absence of its alcayde and most of its garrison; but its
inhabitants were warlike and defended themselves bravely, trusting
that Hamet and his Gomeres would soon return to their assistance.

The fancied strength of their bulwarks had been of little avail

against the batteries of the besiegers. In the space of four days
three towers and great masses of the walls which defended the
suburbs were battered down and the suburbs taken and plundered.
Lombards and other heavy ordnance were now levelled at the walls
of the city, and stones and missiles of all kinds hurled into the
streets. The very rock on which the city stood shook with the
thunder of the artillery, and the Christian captives, deep within
its dungeons, hailed the sound as a promise of deliverance.

When Hamet el[8]Zegri beheld his city thus surrounded and assailed,
he called upon his men to follow him and cut their way through to
its relief. They proceeded stealthily through the mountains until
they came to the nearest heights above the Christian camp. When
night fell and part of the army was sunk in sleep, they descended
the rocks, and, rushing suddenly upon the weakest part of the camp,
endeavored to break their way through and gain the city. The camp
was too strong to be forced; they were driven back to the crags of
the mountains, whence they defended themselves by showering down
darts and stones upon their pursuers.

Hamet now lit alarm-fires about the heights: his standard was joined
by the neighboring mountaineers and by troops from Malaga. Thus
reinforced, he made repeated assaults upon the Christians, cutting
off all stragglers from the camp. All his attempts to force his way
into the city, however, were fruitless; many of his bravest men
were slain, and he was obliged to retreat into the fastnesses of
the mountains.

In the mean while the distress of Ronda increased hourly. The

marques of Cadiz, having possession of the suburbs, was enabled to
approach to the very foot of the perpendicular precipice rising from
the river on the summit of which the city is built. At the foot of
this rock is a living fountain of limpid water gushing into a great
natural basin. A secret mine led down from within the city to this
fountain by several hundred steps cut in the solid rock. Hence the
city obtained its chief supply of water, and these steps were deeply
worn by the weary feet of Christian captives employed in this painful
labor. The marques of Cadiz discovered this subterraneous passage,

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and directed his pioneers to countermine in the side of the rock; they
pierced to the shaft, and, stopping it up, deprived the city of the
benefit of this precious fountain.

While the marques was thus pressing the siege with the generous
thought of soon delivering his companions-in-arms from the Moorish
dungeons, far other were the feelings of the alcayde, Hamet el
Zegri. He smote his breast and gnashed his teeth in impotent fury
as he beheld from the mountain-cliffs the destruction of the city.
Every thunder of the Christian ordnance seemed to batter against his
heart. He saw tower after tower tumbling by day, and various parts
of the city in a blaze at night. ”They fired not merely stones from
their ordnance,” says a chronicler of the times, ”but likewise great
balls of iron cast in moulds, which demolished everything they
struck. They threw also balls of tow steeped in pitch and oil and
gunpowder, which, when once on fire, were not to be extinguished,
and which set the houses in flames. Great was the horror of the
inhabitants: they knew not where to fly for refuge: their houses
were in a blaze or shattered by the ordnance; the streets were
perilous from the falling ruins and the bounding balls, which dashed
to pieces everything they encountered. At night the city looked like
a fiery furnace; the cries and wailings of the women between the
thunders of the ordnance reached even to the Moors on the
opposite mountains, who answered them by yells of fury and despair.

All hope of external succor being at an end, the inhabitants of

Ronda were compelled to capitulate. Ferdinand was easily prevailed
upon to grant them favorable terms. The place was capable of longer
resistance, and he feared for the safety of his camp, as the forces
were daily augmenting on the mountains and making frequent assaults.
The inhabitants were permitted to depart with their effects, either
to Barbary, Granada, or elsewhere, and those who chose to reside in
Spain had lands assigned them and were indulged in the practice of
their religion.

No sooner did the place surrender than detachments were sent to

attack the Moors who hovered about the neighboring mountains.
Hamet el Zegri, however, did not remain to make a fruitless battle.
He gave up the game as lost, and retreated with his Gomeres,
filled with grief and rage, but trusting to fortune to give him
future vengeance.

The first care of the good marques of Cadiz on entering Ronda was
to deliver his unfortunate companion-in-arms from the dungeons of
the fortress. What a difference in their looks from the time when,
flushed with health and hope and arrayed in military pomp, they
had sallied forth upon the mountain-foray! Many of them were
almost naked, with irons at their ankles and beards reaching to
their waists. Their meeting with the marques was joyful, yet it
had the look of grief, for their joy was mingled with many bitter

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recollections. There was an immense number of other captives,
among whom were several young men of noble families who
with filial piety had surrendered themselves prisoners in place
of their fathers.

The captives were all provided with mules and sent to the queen
at Cordova. The humane heart of Isabella melted at the sight of
the piteous cavalcade. They were all supplied by her with food
and raiment, and money to pay their expenses to their homes.
Their chains were hung as pious trophies against the exterior of
the church of St. Juan de los Reyes in Toledo, where the Christian
traveller may regale his eyes with the sight of them at this very day.

Seen by the author in 1826.

Among the Moorish captives was a young infidel maiden, of great

beauty, who desired to become a Christian and to remain in Spain.
She had been inspired with the light of the true faith through the
ministry of a young man who had been a captive in Ronda. He was
anxious to complete his good work by marrying her. The queen
consented to their pious wishes, having first taken care that the
young maiden should be properly purified by the holy sacrament
of baptism.

”Thus this pestilent nest of warfare and infidelity, the city of

Ronda,” says the worthy Fray Antonio Agapida, ”was converted to
the true faith by the thunder of our artillery–an example which was
soon followed by Cazarabonela, Marbella, and other towns in these
parts, insomuch that in the course of this expedition no less than
seventy-two places were rescued from the vile sect of Mahomet and
placed under the benignant domination of the Cross.”

CHAPTER XXXI.

HOW THE PEOPLE OF GRANADA INVITED EL ZAGAL TO THE THRONE,

AND HOW HE MARCHED TO THE CAPITAL.

The people of Granada were a versatile, unsteady race, and

exceedingly given to make and unmake kings. They had for a
long time vacillated between old Muley Abul Hassan and his son,
Boabdil el Chico, sometimes setting up the one, sometimes the
other, and sometimes both at once, according to the pinch and
pressure of external evils. They found, however, that the evils still
went on increasing in defiance of every change, and were at their
wits’ end to devise some new combination or arrangement by which
an efficient government might be wrought out of two bad kings.

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When the tidings arrived of the fall of Ronda, and the consequent
ruin of the frontier, a tumultuous assemblage took place in one of
the public squares. As usual, the people attributed the misfortunes
of the country to the faults of their rulers, for the populace never
imagine that any part of their miseries can originate with themselves.
A crafty alfaqui, named Alyme Mazer, who had watched the current of
their discontents, rose and harangued them. ”You have been choosing
and changing,” said he, ”between two monarchs; and who and what
are they? Muley Abul Hassan for one, a man worn out by age and
infirmities, unable to sally forth against the foe, even when ravaging
to the very gates of the city; and Boabdil el Chico for the other, an
apostate, a traitor, a deserter from his throne, a fugitive among the
enemies of his nation, a man fated to misfortune, and proverbially
named ’the Unlucky.’ In a time of overwhelming war like the present
he only is fit to sway a sceptre who can wield a sword. Would you
seek such a man? You need not look far. Allah has sent such a one
in this time of distress to retrieve the fortunes of Granada. You
already know whom I mean. You know that it can be no other than
your general, the invincible Abdallah, whose surname of El Zagal has
become a watchword in battle rousing the courage of the faithful and
striking terror into the unbelievers.”

The multitude received the words of the alfaqui with acclamations;

they were delighted with the idea of a third king over Granada,
and Abdallah el Zagal being of the royal family, and already in the
virtual exercise of royal power, the measure had nothing in it that
appeared either rash or violent. A deputation was therefore sent
to El Zagal at Malaga inviting him to repair to Granada to receive
the crown.

El Zagal expressed great surprise and repugnance when the mission

was announced to him, and nothing but his patriotic zeal for the
public safety and his fraternal eagerness to relieve the aged Abul
Hassan from the cares of government prevailed upon him to accept
the offer. Leaving, therefore, Reduan Vanegas, one of the bravest
Moorish generals, in command of Malaga, he departed for Granada,
attended by three hundred trusty cavaliers.

Muley Abul Hassan did not wait for the arrival of his brother.
Unable any longer to buffet with the storms of the times, his only
solicitude was to seek some safe and quiet harbor of repose. In one
of the deep valleys which indent the Mediterranean coast, and which
are shut up on the land side by stupendous mountains, stood the
little city of Almunecar. The valley was watered by the limpid river
Frio, and abounded with fruits, with grain, and pasturage. The city
was strongly fortified, and the garrison and alcayde were devoted to
the old monarch. This was the place chosen by Muley Abul Hassan
for his asylum. His first care was to send thither all his treasures;
his next care was to take refuge there himself; his third, that his
sultana Zoraya and their two sons should follow him.

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 In the mean time, Muley Abdallah el Zagal pursued his journey toward
the capital, attended by his three hundred cavaliers. The road from
Malaga to Granada winds close by Alhama, and is dominated by that
lofty fortress. This had been a most perilous pass for the Moors
during the time that Alhama was commanded by the count de Tendilla:
not a traveller could escape his eagle eye, and his garrison was
ever ready for a sally. The count de Tendilla, however, had been
relieved from this arduous post, and it had been given in charge
to Don Gutiere de Padilla, clavero (or treasurer) of the order of
Calatrava–an easy, indulgent man, who had with him three hundred
gallant knights of his order, besides other mercenary troops. The
garrison had fallen off in discipline; the cavaliers were hardy in
fight and daring in foray, but confident in themselves and negligent
of proper precautions. Just before the journey of El Zagal a number
of these cavaliers, with several soldiers of fortune of the garrison, in
all about one hundred and seventy men, had sallied forth to harass
the Moorish country during its present distracted state, and, having
ravaged the valleys of the Sierra Nevada, or Snowy Mountains, were
returning to Alhama in gay spirits and laden with booty.

As El Zagal passed through the neighborhood of Alhama he recollected

the ancient perils of the road, and sent light cerradors in advance to
inspect each rock and ravine where a foe might lurk in ambush. One
of these scouts, overlooking a narrow valley which opened upon the
road, descried a troop of horsemen on the banks of a little stream.
They were dismounted, and had taken the bridles from their steeds,
that they might crop the fresh grass on the banks of the river. The
horsemen were scattered about, some reposing in the shades of rocks
and trees, others gambling for the spoil they had taken: not a sentinel
was posted to keep guard; everything showed the perfect security of
men who consider themselves beyond the reach of danger.

These careless cavaliers were in fact the knights of Calatrava

returning from their foray. A part of their force had passed on
with the cavalgada; ninety of the principal cavaliers had halted
to refresh themselves in this valley. El Zagal smiled with ferocious
joy when he heard of their negligent security. ”Here will be
trophies,” said he, ”to grace our entrance into Granada.”

Approaching the valley with cautious silence, he wheeled into it at

full speed at the head of his troop, and attacked the Christians so
suddenly that they had no time to put the bridles upon their horses
or even to leap into the saddles. They made a confused but valiant
defence, fighting among the rocks and in the rugged bed of the river.
Their defence was useless; seventy-nine were slain, and the remaining
eleven were taken prisoners.

A party of the Moors galloped in pursuit of the cavalgada: they soon

overtook it winding slowly up a hill. The horsemen who convoyed it,

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perceiving the enemy at a distance, made their escape, and left the
spoil to be retaken by the Moors. El Zagal gathered together his
captives and his booty, and proceeded, elate with success, to Granada.

He paused before the gate of Elvira, for as yet he had not been
proclaimed king. This ceremony was immediately performed, for
the fame of his recent exploit had preceded him and intoxicated
the minds of the giddy populace. He entered Granada in a sort of
triumph. The eleven captive knights of Calatrava walked in front:
next were paraded the ninety captured steeds, bearing the armor
and weapons of their late owners, and led by as many mounted
Moors: then came seventy Moorish horsemen, with as many Christian
heads hanging at their saddle-bows: Muley Abdallah followed,
surrounded by a number of distinguished cavaliers splendidly attired,
and the pageant was closed by a long cavalgada of the flocks and
herds and other booty recovered from the Christians.

Zurita, lib. 20, c. 62; Mariana, Hist. de Espana; Abarca, Anales

de Aragon.

The populace gazed with almost savage triumph at these captive

cavaliers and the gory heads of their companions, knowing them to
have been part of the formidable garrison of Alhama, so long the
scourge of Granada and the terror of the Vega. They hailed this
petty triumph as an auspicious opening of the reign of their new
monarch; for several days the name of Muley Abul Hassan and
Boabdil el Chico were never mentioned but with contempt, and
the whole city resounded with the praises of El Zagal, or the Valiant.

CHAPTER XXXII.

HOW THE COUNT DE CABRA ATTEMPTED TO CAPTURE ANOTHER

KING, AND HOW HE FARED IN HIS ATTEMPT.

The elevation of a bold and active veteran to the throne of Granada

in place of its late bedridden king made an important difference in
the aspect of the war, and called for some blow that should dash
the confidence of the Moors in their new monarch and animate the
Christians to fresh exertions.

Don Diego de Cordova, the brave count de Cabra, was at this time in
his castle of Vaena, where he kept a wary eye upon the frontier. It
was now the latter part of August, and he grieved that the summer
should pass away without an inroad into the country of the foe. He
sent out his scouts on the prowl, and they brought him word that
the important post of Moclin was but weakly garrisoned. This was

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a castellated town, strongly situated upon a high mountain, partly
surrounded by thick forests and partly girdled by a river. It
defended one of the rugged and solitary passes by which the
Christians were wont to make their inroads, insomuch that the
Moors, in their figurative way, denominated it the shield of Granada.

The count de Cabra sent word to the monarchs of the feeble state
of the garrison, and gave it as his opinion that by a secret and rapid
expedition the place might be surprised. King Ferdinand asked the
advice of his councillors. Some cautioned him against the sanguine
temperament of the count and his heedlessness of danger: Moclin,
they observed, was near to Granada and might be promptly reinforced.
The opinion of the count, however, prevailed, the king considering him
almost infallible in matters of border warfare since his capture of
Boabdil el Chico.

The king departed, therefore, from Cordova, and took post at Alcala
la Real, for the purpose of being near to Moclin. The queen also
proceeded to Vaena, accompanied by her children, Prince Juan and
the princess Isabella, and her great counsellor in all matters, public
and private, spiritual and temporal, the venerable grand cardinal
of Spain.

Nothing could exceed the pride and satisfaction of the loyal count
de Cabra when he saw the stately train winding along the dreary
mountain-roads and entering the gates of Vaena. He received his
royal guests with all due ceremony, and lodged them in the best
apartments that the warrior castle afforded.

King Ferdinand had concerted a wary plan to ensure the success

of the enterprise. The count de Cabra and Don Martin Alonso de
Montemayor were to set forth with their troops so as to reach Moclin
by a certain hour, and to intercept all who should attempt to enter
or should sally from the town. The master of Calatrava, the troops
of the grand cardinal, commanded by the count of Buendia, and
the forces of the bishop of Jaen, led by that belligerent prelate,
amounting in all to four thousand horse and six thousand foot,
were to set off in time to co-operate with the count de Cabra, so
as to surround the town. The king was to follow with his whole
force and encamp before the place.

And here the worthy padre Fray Antonio Agapida breaks forth into a
triumphant eulogy of the pious prelates who thus mingled personally
in these scenes of warfare. As this was a holy crusade (says he),
undertaken for the advancement of the faith and the glory of the
Church, so was it always countenanced and upheld by saintly men;
for the victories of their most Catholic majesties were not followed,
like those of mere worldly sovereigns, by erecting castles and
towers and appointing alcaydes and garrisons, but by the founding
of convents and cathedrals and the establishment of wealthy

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bishoprics. Wherefore their majesties were always surrounded in
court or camp, in the cabinet or in the field, by a crowd of ghostly
advisers inspiriting them to the prosecution of this most righteous
war. Nay, the holy men of the Church did not scruple, at times, to
buckle on the cuirass over the cassock, to exchange the crosier for
the lance, and thus with corporal hands and temporal weapons to
fight the good fight of the faith.

But to return from this rhapsody of the worthy friar. The count de
Cabra, being instructed in the complicated arrangements of the king,
marched forth at midnight to execute them punctually. He led his
troops by the little river that winds below Vaena, and so up to the
wild defiles of the mountains, marching all night, and stopping only
in the heat of the following day to repose under the shadowy cliffs
of a deep barranca, calculating to arrive at Moclin exactly in time
to co-operate with the other forces.

The troops had scarcely stretched themselves on the earth to take

repose, when a scout arrived bringing word that El Zagal had
suddenly sallied out of Granada with a strong force, and had
encamped in the vicinity of Moclin. It was plain that the wary Moor
had received information of the intended attack. This, however,
was not the idea that presented itself to the mind of the count de
Cabra. He had captured one king; here was a fair opportunity to
secure another. What a prisoner to deliver into the hands of his
royal mistress! Fired with the thoughts, the good count forgot all
the arrangements of the king; or rather, blinded by former success,
he trusted everything to courage and fortune, and thought that by
one bold swoop he might again bear off the royal prize and wear
his laurels without competition. His only fear was that the master
of Calatrava and the belligerent bishop might come up in time to
share the glory of the victory; so, ordering every one to horse, this
hot-spirited cavalier pushed on for Moclin without allowing his
troops the necessary time for repose.

Mariana, lib. 25, c. 17; Abarca, Zurita, etc.

The evening closed as the count arrived in the neighborhood of

Moclin. It was the full of the moon and a bright and cloudless
night. The count was marching through one of those deep valleys or
ravines worn in the Spanish mountains by the brief but tremendous
torrents which prevail during the autumnal rains. It was walled on
each side by lofty and almost perpendicular cliffs, but great masses
of moonlight were thrown into the bottom of the glen, glittering on
the armor of the shining squadrons as they silently passed through
it. Suddenly the war-cry of the Moors rose in various parts of the
valley. ”El Zagal! El Zagal!” was shouted from every cliff,
accompanied by showers of missiles that struck down several of the
Christian warriors. The count lifted up his eyes, and beheld, by the
light of the moon, every cliff glistening with Moorish soldiery. The

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deadly shower fell thickly round him, and the shining armor of his
followers made them fair objects for the aim of the enemy. The count
saw his brother Gonzalo struck dead by his side; his own horse sank
under him, pierced by four Moorish lances, and he received a wound
in the hand from an arquebuse. He remembered the horrible massacre
of the mountains of Malaga, and feared a similar catastrophe. There
was no time to pause. His brother’s horse, freed from his slaughtered
rider, was running at large: seizing the reins, he sprang into the
saddle, called upon his men to follow him, and, wheeling round,
retreated out of the fatal valley.

The Moors, rushing down from the heights, pursued the retreating
Christians. The chase endured for a league, but it was a league of
rough and broken road, where the Christians had to turn and fight at
almost every step. In these short but fierce combats the enemy lost
many cavaliers of note, but the loss of the Christians was infinitely
more grievous, comprising numbers of the noblest warriors of Vaena
and its vicinity. Many of the Christians, disabled by wounds or
exhausted by fatigue, turned aside and endeavored to conceal
themselves among rocks and thickets, but never more rejoined
their companions, being slain or captured by the Moors or perishing
in their wretched retreats.

The arrival of the troops led by the master of Calatrava and the
bishop of Jaen put an end to the rout. El Zagal contented himself
with the laurels he had gained, and, ordering the trumpets to call
off his men from the pursuit, returned in great triumph to Moclin.

Zurita, lib. 20, c. 4; Pulgar, Cronica.

Queen Isabella was at Vaena, awaiting with great anxiety the result
of the expedition. She was in a stately apartment of the castle
looking toward the road that winds through the mountains from
Moclin, and regarding the watch-towers on the neighboring heights
in hopes of favorable signals. The prince and princess, her children,
were with her, and her venerable counsellor, the grand cardinal. All
shared in the anxiety of the moment. At length couriers were seen
riding toward the town. They entered its gates, but before they
reached the castle the nature of their tidings was known to the
queen by the shrieks and wailings from the streets below. The
messengers were soon followed by wounded fugitives hastening
home to be relieved or to die among their friends and families. The
whole town resounded with lamentations, for it had lost the flower
of its youth and its bravest warriors. Isabella was a woman of
courageous soul, but her feelings were overpowered by spectacles
of woe on every side: her maternal heart mourned over the death
of so many loyal subjects, who shortly before had rallied round her
with devoted affection, and, losing her usual self-command, she sank
into deep despondency.

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 In this gloomy state of mind a thousand apprehensions crowded upon
her. She dreaded the confidence which this success would impart
to the Moors; she feared also for the important fortress of Alhama,
the garrison of which had not been reinforced since its foraging
party had been cut off by this same El Zagal. On every side she saw
danger and disaster, and feared that a general reverse was about
to attend the Castilian arms.

The grand cardinal comforted her with both spiritual and worldly
counsel. He told her to recollect that no country was ever conquered
without occasional reverses to the conquerors; that the Moors were
a warlike people, fortified in a rough and mountainous country, where
they never could be conquered by her ancestors; and that, in fact,
her armies had already, in three years, taken more cities than those
of any of her predecessors had been able to do in twelve. He
concluded by offering to take the field himself with three thousand
cavalry, his own retainers, paid and maintained by himself, and
either hasten to the relief of Alhama or undertake any other
expedition Her Majesty might command. The discreet words of the
cardinal soothed the spirit of the queen, who always looked to him
for consolation, and she soon recovered her usual equanimity.

Some of the counsellors of Isabella, of that politic class who seek

to rise by the faults of others, were loud in their censures of the
rashness of the count. The queen defended him with prompt
generosity. ”The enterprise,” said she, ”was rash, but not more
rash than that of Lucena, which was crowned with success, and
which we have all applauded as the height of heroism. Had the
count de Cabra succeeded in capturing the uncle, as he did the
nephew, who is there that would not have praised him to the
skies?”

The magnanimous words of the queen put a stop to all invidious

remarks in her presence, but certain of the courtiers, who had
envied the count the glory gained by his former achievements,
continued to magnify, among themselves his present imprudence;
and we are told by Fray Antonio Agapida that they sneeringly
gave the worthy cavalier the appellation of count de Cabra the
king-catcher.

Ferdinand had reached the place on the frontier called the Fountain
of the King, within three leagues of Moclin, when he heard of the
late disaster. He greatly lamented the precipitation of the count,
but forbore to express himself with severity, for he knew the value
of that loyal and valiant cavalier. He held a council of war to
determine what course was to be pursued. Some of his cavaliers
advised him to abandon the attempt upon Moclin, the place being
strongly reinforced and the enemy inspirited by his recent victory.
Certain old Spanish hidalgos reminded him that he had but few
Castilian troops in his army, without which stanch soldiery his

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predecessors never presumed to enter the Moorish territory, while
others remonstrated that it would be beneath the dignity of the king
to retire from an enterprise on account of the defeat of a single
cavalier and his retainers. In this way the king was distracted by a
multitude of counsellors, when, fortunately, a letter from the queen
put an end to his perplexities. Proceed we in the next chapter to
relate what was the purport of that letter.

Abarca, Anales de Aragon.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

EXPEDITION AGAINST THE CASTLES OF CAMBIL AND ALBAHAR.

”Happy are those princes,” exclaims the worthy padre Fray Antonio
Agapida, ”who have women and priests to advise them, for in these

dwelleth the spirit of counsel.” While Ferdinand and his captains

were confounding each other in their deliberations at the Fountain
of the King, a quiet but deep little council of war was held in the
state apartment of the old castle of Vaena between Queen Isabella,
the venerable Pedro Gonzalez de Mendoza, grand cardinal of Spain,
and Don Garcia Osoria, the belligerent bishop of Jaen. This last
worthy prelate, who had exchanged his mitre for a helm, no sooner
beheld the defeat of the enterprise against Moclin than he turned
the reins of his sleek, stall-fed steed and hastened back to Vaena,
full of a project for the employment of the army, the advancement
of the faith, and the benefit of his own diocese. He knew that the
actions of the king were influenced by the opinions of the queen,
and that the queen always inclined a listening ear to the counsels
of saintly men: he laid his plans, therefore, with the customary
wisdom of his cloth, to turn the ideas of the queen into the proper
channel; and this was the purport of the worthy bishop’s suggestions:

The bishopric of Jaen had for a long time been harassed by two
Moorish castles, the scourge and terror of all that part of the
country. They were situated on the frontiers of the kingdom of
Granada, about four leagues from Jaen, in a deep, narrow, and
rugged valley surrounded by lofty mountains. Through this valley
runs the Rio Frio (or Cold River) in a deep channel worn between
high, precipitous banks. On each side of the stream rise two vast
rocks, nearly perpendicular, within a stone’s throw of each other,
blocking up the gorge of the valley. On the summits of these rocks
stood the two formidable castles, Cambil and Albahar, fortified with
battlements and towers of great height and thickness. They were
connected together by a bridge thrown from rock to rock across the

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river. The road which passed through the valley traversed this
bridge, and was completely commanded by these castles. They
stood like two giants of romance guarding the pass and dominating
the valley.

The kings of Granada, knowing the importance of these castles,

kept them always well garrisoned and victualled to stand a siege,
with fleet steeds and hard riders to forage the country of the
Christians. The warlike race of the Abencerrages, the troops of the
royal household, and others of the choicest chivalry of Granada made
them their strongholds or posts of arms, whence to sally forth on
those predatory and roving enterprises in which they delighted. As
the wealthy bishopric of Jaen lay immediately at hand, it suffered
more peculiarly from these marauders. They drove off the fat beeves
and the flocks of sheep from the pastures and swept the laborers
from the field; they scoured the country to the very gates of Jaen,
so that the citizens could not venture from their walls without the
risk of being borne off captive to the dungeons of these castles.

The worthy bishop, like a good pastor, beheld with grief of heart
his fat bishopric daily waxing leaner and leaner and poorer and
poorer, and his holy ire was kindled at the thoughts that the
possessions of the Church should thus be at the mercy of a crew
of infidels. It was the urgent counsel of the bishop, therefore,
that the military force thus providentially assembled in the
neighborhood, since it was apparently foiled in its attempt upon
Moclin, should be turned against these insolent castles and the
country delivered from their domination. The grand cardinal
supported the suggestion of the bishop, and declared that he
had long meditated the policy of a measure of the kind. Their
united opinions found favor with the queen, and she despatched
a letter on the subject to the king. It came just in time to relieve
him from the distraction of a multitude of counsellors, and he
immediately undertook the reduction of those castles.

The marques of Cadiz was accordingly sent in advance, with two

thousand horse, to keep a watch upon the garrisons and prevent
all entrance or exit until the king should arrive with the main army
and the battering artillery. The queen, to be near at hand in case
of need, moved her quarters to the city of Jaen, where she was
received with martial honors by the belligerent bishop, who had
buckled on his cuirass and girded on his sword to fight in the cause
of his diocese.

In the mean time, the marques of Cadiz arrived in the valley and
completely shut up the Moors within their walls. The castles were
under the command of Mahomet Lentin Ben Usef, an Abencerrage,
and one of the bravest cavaliers of Granada. In his garrisons were
many troops of the fierce African tribe of Gomeres. Mahomet Lentin,
confident in the strength of his fortresses, smiled as he looked

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down from his battlements upon the Christian cavalry perplexed in
the rough and narrow valley. He sent forth skirmishing parties to
harass them, and there were many sharp combats between small
parties and single knights; but the Moors were driven back to their
castles, and all attempts to send intelligence of their situation to
Granada were frustrated by the vigilance of the marques of Cadiz.

At length the legions of the royal army came pouring, with vaunting
trumpet and fluttering banner, along the defiles of the mountains.
They halted before the castles, but the king could not find room in
the narrow and rugged valley to form his camp; he had to divide it
into three parts, which were posted on different heights, and his
tents whitened the sides of the neighboring hills. When the
encampment was formed the army remained gazing idly at the
castles. The artillery was upward of four leagues in the rear, and
without artillery all attack would be in vain.

The alcayde Mahomet Lentin knew the nature of the road by which
the artillery had to be brought. It was merely a narrow and rugged
path, at times scaling almost perpendicular crags and precipices, up
which it was utterly impossible for wheel carriages to pass, neither
was it in the power of man or beast to draw up the lombards and
other ponderous ordnance. He felt assured, therefore, that they
never could be brought to the camp, and without their aid what
could the Christians effect against his rock-built castles? He scoffed
at them, therefore, as he saw their tents by day and their fires by
night covering the surrounding heights. ”Let them linger here a
little while longer,” said he, ”and the autumnal torrents will wash
them from the mountains.”

While the alcayde was thus closely mewed up within his walls and
the Christians remained inactive in their camp, he noticed, one calm
autumnal day, the sound of implements of labor echoing among the
mountains, and now and then the crash of a falling tree or a
thundering report, as if some rock had been heaved from its bed
and hurled into the valley. The alcayde was on the battlements of
his castle, surrounded by his knights. ”Methinks,” said he, ”these
Christians are making war upon the rocks and trees of the mountains,
since they find our castle unassailable.”

The sounds did not cease even during the night: every now and then
the Moorish sentinel as he paced the battlements heard some crash
echoing among the heights. The return of day explained the mystery.
Scarcely did the sun shine against the summits of the mountains than
shouts burst from the cliffs opposite to the castle, and were answered
from the camp with joyful sounds of kettledrums and trumpets.

The astonished Moors lifted up their eyes and beheld, as it were,

a torrent of war breaking out of a narrow defile. There was a
multitude of men with pickaxes, spades, and bars of iron clearing

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away every obstacle, while behind them slowly moved along great
teams of oxen dragging heavy ordnance and all the munitions of
battering artillery.

”What cannot women and priests effect when they unite in council?”
exclaims again the worthy Antonio Agapida. The queen had held
another consultation with the grand cardinal and the belligerent
bishop of Jaen. It was clear that the heavy ordnance could never be
conveyed to the camp by the regular road of the country, and without
battering artillery nothing could be effected. It was suggested,
however, by the zealous bishop that another road might be opened
through a more practicable part of the mountains. It would be an
undertaking extravagant and chimerical with ordinary means, and
therefore unlooked for by the enemy; but what could not kings effect
who had treasure and armies at command?

The project struck the enterprising spirit of the queen. Six

thousand men with pickaxes, crowbars, and every other necessary
implement were set to work day and night to break a road through
the very centre of the mountains. No time was to be lost, for it was
rumored that El Zagal was about to march with a mighty host to the
relief of the castles. The bustling bishop of Jaen acted as pioneer
to mark the route and superintend the laborers, and the grand
cardinal took care that the work should never languish through
lack of means.

Zurita, Anales de Aragon, lib. 20, c. 64; Pulgar, part 3, cap. 51.

”When kings’ treasures,” says Fray Antonio Agapida, ”are dispensed

by priestly hands, there is no stint, as the glorious annals of Spain
bear witness.” Under the guidance of these ghostly men it seemed
as if miracles were effected. Almost an entire mountain was levelled,
valleys were filled up, trees hewn down, rocks broken and overturned;
in short, all the obstacles which nature had heaped around entirely
and promptly vanished. In little more than twelve days this gigantic
work was effected and the ordnance dragged to the camp, to the
great triumph of the Christians and confusion of the Moors.

Zurita

No sooner was the heavy artillery arrived than it was mounted in

all haste upon the neighboring heights: Francisco Ramirez de Madrid,
the first engineer in Spain, superintended the batteries, and soon
opened a destructive fire upon the castles.

When the alcayde, Mahomet Lentin, found his towers tumbling about
him and his bravest men dashed from the walls without the power of
inflicting a wound upon the foe, his haughty spirit was greatly
exasperated. ”Of what avail,” said he, bitterly, ”is all the prowess
of knighthood against these cowardly engines that murder from afar?”

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 For a whole day a tremendous fire kept thundering upon the castle
of Albahar. The lombards discharged large stones which demolished
two of the towers and all the battlements which guarded the portal.
If any Moors attempted to defend the walls or repair the breaches,
they were shot down by ribadoquines and other small pieces of
artillery. The Christian soldiery issued from the camp under cover
of this fire, and, approaching the castles, discharged flights of
arrows and stones through the openings made by the ordnance.

At length, to bring the siege to a conclusion, Francisco Ramirez

elevated some of the heaviest artillery on a mount that rose in
form of a cone or pyramid on the side of the river near to Albahar
and commanded both castles. This was an operation of great
skill and excessive labor, but it was repaid by complete success,
for the Moors did not dare to wait until this terrible battery should
discharge its fury. Satisfied that all further resistance was in
vain, the valiant alcayde made signal for a parley. The articles of
capitulation were soon arranged. The alcayde and his garrisons
were permitted to return in safety to the city of Granada, and the
castles were delivered into the possession of King Ferdinand on the
day of the festival of St. Matthew in the month of September. They
were immediately repaired, strongly garrisoned, and delivered in
charge to the city of Jaen.

The effects of this triumph were immediately apparent. Quiet and

security once more settled upon the bishopric. The husbandmen tilled
their fields in peace, the herds and flocks fattened unmolested in
the pastures, and the vineyards yielded corpulent skinsful of rosy
wine. The good bishop enjoyed in the gratitude of his people the
approbation of his conscience, the increase of his revenues, and the
abundance of his table a reward for all his toils and perils. ”This
glorious victory,” exclaims Fray Antonio Agapida, ”achieved by such
extraordinary management and infinite labor, is a shining example of
what a bishop can effect for the promotion of the faith and the good
of his diocese.”

CHAPTER XXXIV.

ENTERPRISE OF THE KNIGHTS OF CALATRAVA AGAINST ZALEA.

While these events were taking place on the northern frontier of the
kingdom of Granada the important fortress of Alhama was neglected,
and its commander, Don Gutiere de Padilla, clavero of Calatrava,
reduced to great perplexity. The remnant of the foraging party which
had been surprised and massacred by El Zagal when on his way to

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Granada to receive the crown had returned in confusion and dismay
to the fortress. They could only speak of their own disgrace, being
obliged to abandon their cavalgada and fly, pursued by a superior
force: of the flower of their party, the gallant knights of Calatrava,
who had remained behind in the valley, they knew nothing. A few
days cleared up the mystery of their fate: tidings were brought that
their bloody heads had been borne in triumph into Granada. The
surviving knights of Calatrava, who formed a part of the garrison,
burned to revenge the death of their comrades and to wipe out the
stigma of this defeat; but the clavero had been rendered cautious by
disaster–he resisted all their entreaties for a foray. His garrison was
weakened by the loss of so many of its bravest men; the Vega was
patrolled by numerous and powerful squadrons sent forth by El Zagal;
above all, the movements of the garrison were watched by the warriors
of Zalea, a strong town only two leagues distant on the road toward
Loxa. This place was a continual check upon Alhama when in its most
powerful state, placing ambuscades to entrap the Christian cavaliers
in the course of their sallies. Frequent and bloody skirmishes had
taken place in consequence; and the troops of Alhama, when returning
from their forays, had often to fight their way back through the
squadrons of Zalea. Thus surrounded by dangers, Don Gutiere de
Padilla restrained the eagerness of his troops for a sally, knowing
that an additional disaster might be followed by the loss of Alhama.

In the mean while provisions began to grow scarce; they were

unable to forage the country as usual for supplies, and depended
for relief upon the Castilian sovereigns. The defeat of the count de
Cabra filled the measure of their perplexities, as it interrupted the
intended reinforcements and supplies. To such extremity were
they reduced that they were compelled to kill some of their horses
for provisions.

The worthy clavero, Don Gutiere de Padilla, was pondering one day
on this gloomy state of affairs when a Moor was brought before him
who had surrendered himself at the gate of Alhama and claimed an
audience. Don Gutiere was accustomed to visits of the kind from
renegado Moors, who roamed the country as spies and adalides, but
the countenance of this man was quite unknown to him. He had a
box strapped to his shoulders containing divers articles of traffic,
and appeared to be one of those itinerant traders who often resorted
to Alhama and the other garrison towns under pretext of vending trivial
merchandise, such as amulets, perfumes, and trinkets, but who often
produced rich shawls, golden chains and necklaces, and valuable gems
and jewels.

The Moor requested a private conference with the clavero. ”I have

a precious jewel,” said he, ”to dispose of.”

”I want no jewels,” replied Don Gutiere.

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 ”For the sake of Him who died on the cross, the great prophet of
your faith,” said the Moor solemnly, ”refuse not my request; the
jewel I speak of you alone can purchase, but I can only treat about
it in secret.”

Don Gutiere perceived there was something hidden under these

mystic and figurative terms, in which the Moors were often
accustomed to talk. He motioned to his attendants to retire. When
they were alone the Moor looked cautiously around the apartment,
and then, approaching close to the knight, demanded in a low
voice, ”What will you give me if I deliver the fortress of Zalea into
your hands?”

Don Gutiere looked with surprise at the humble individual that made
such a suggestion.

”What means have you,” said he, ”of effecting such a proposition?”

”I have a brother in the garrison of Zalea,” replied the Moor,

”who for a proper compensation would admit a body of troops
into the citadel.”

Don Gutiere turned a scrutinizing eye upon the Moor. ”What right
have I to believe,” said he, ”that thou wilt be truer to me than to
those of thy blood and thy religion?”

”I renounce all ties to them, either of blood or religion,” replied

the Moor; ”my mother was a Christian captive; her country shall
henceforth be my country, and her faith my faith.”

Cura de los Palacios.

The doubts of Don Gutiere were not dispelled by this profession

of mongrel Christianity. ”Granting the sincerity of thy conversion,”
said he, ”art thou under no obligations of gratitude or duty to the
alcayde of the fortress thou wouldst betray?”

The eyes of the Moor flashed fire at the words; he gnashed his
teeth with fury. ”The alcayde,” cried he, ”is a dog! He has deprived
my brother of his just share of booty; he has robbed me of my
merchandise, treated me worse than a Jew when I murmured at his
injustice, and ordered me to be thrust forth ignominiously from his
walls. May the curse of God fall upon my head if I rest content until
I have full revenge!” ”Enough,” said Don Gutiere: ”I trust more to
thy revenge than thy religion.”

The good clavero called a council of his officers. The knights of

Calatrava were unanimous for the enterprise–zealous to appease
the manes of their slaughtered comrades. Don Gutiere reminded
them of the state of the garrison, enfeebled by their late loss

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and scarcely sufficient for the defence of the walls. The cavaliers
replied that there was no achievement without risk, and that there
would have been no great actions recorded in history had there not
been daring spirits ready to peril life to gain renown.

Don Gutiere yielded to the wishes of his knights, for to have

resisted any further might have drawn on him the imputation of
timidity: he ascertained by trusty spies that everything in Zalea
remained in the usual state, and he made all the requisite
arrangements for the attack.

When the appointed night arrived all the cavaliers were anxious to
engage in the enterprise, but the individuals were decided by lot.
They set out under the guidance of the Moor, and when they had
arrived in the vicinity of Zalea they bound his hands behind his
back, and their leader pledged his knightly word to strike him dead
on the first sign of treachery. He then bade him to lead the way.

It was near midnight when they reached the walls of the fortress.
They passed silently along until they found themselves below the
citadel. Here their guide made a low and preconcerted signal: it was
answered from above, and a cord let down from the wall. The knights
attached to it a ladder, which was drawn up and fastened. Gutiere
Munoz was the first that mounted, followed by Pedro de Alvarado,
both brave and hardy soldiers. A handful succeeded: they were
attacked by a party of guards, but held them at bay until more of
their comrades ascended; with their assistance they gained
possession of a tower and part of the wall. The garrison by this
time was aroused, but before they could reach the scene of action
most of the cavaliers were within the battlements. A bloody contest
raged for about an hour–several of the Christians were slain, but
many of the Moors: at length the citadel was carried and the town
submitted without resistance.

Thus did the gallant knights of Calatrava gain the strong town of
Zalea with scarcely any loss, and atone for the inglorious defeat of
their companions by El Zagal. They found the magazines of the place
well stored with provisions, and were enabled to carry a seasonable
supply to their own famishing garrison.

The tidings of this event reached the sovereigns just after the
surrender of Cambil and Albahar. They were greatly rejoiced at
this additional success of their arms, and immediately sent strong
reinforcements and ample supplies for both Alhama and Zalea.
They then dismissed the army for the winter. Ferdinand and Isabella
retired to Alcala de Henares, where the queen on the 16th of
December, 1485, gave birth to the princess Catharine, afterward
wife of Henry VIII. of England. Thus prosperously terminated the
checkered campaign of this important year.

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CHAPTER XXXV.

DEATH OF MULEY ABUL HASSAN.

Muley Abdallah el Zagal had been received with great acclamations

at Granada on his return from defeating the count de Cabra. He had
endeavored to turn his victory to the greatest advantage with his
subjects, giving tilts and tournaments and other public festivities
in which the Moors delighted. The loss of the castles of Cambil and
Albahar and of the fortress of Zalea, however, checked this sudden
tide of popularity, and some of the fickle populace began to doubt
whether they had not been rather precipitate in deposing his
brother, Muley Abul Hassan.

That superannuated monarch remained in his faithful town of

Almunecar, on the border of the Mediterranean, surrounded by
a few adherents, together with his wife Zoraya and his children,
and he had all his treasures safe in his possession. The fiery
heart of the old king was almost burnt out, and all his powers of
doing either harm or good seemed at an end.

While in this passive and helpless state his brother, El Zagal,

manifested a sudden anxiety for his health. He had him removed,
with all tenderness and care, to Salobrena, another fortress on the
Mediterranean coast, famous for its pure and salubrious air; and the
alcayde, who was a devoted adherent to El Zagal, was charged to
have especial care that nothing was wanting to the comfort and
solace of his brother.

Salobrena was a small town, situated on a lofty and rocky hill in

the midst of a beautiful and fertile vega shut up on three sides by
mountains and opening on the fourth to the Mediterranean. It was
protected by strong walls and a powerful castle, and, being deemed
impregnable, was often used by the Moorish kings as a place of
deposit for their treasures. They were accustomed also to assign
it as a residence for such of their sons and brothers as might
endanger the security of their reign. Here the princes lived in
luxurious repose: they had delicious gardens, perfumed baths, a
harem of beauties at their command–nothing was denied them but
the liberty to depart: that alone was wanting to render this abode
an earthly paradise.

Such was the delightful place appointed by El Zagal for the

residence of his brother, but, notwithstanding its wonderful
salubrity, the old monarch had not been removed thither many days
before he expired. There was nothing extraordinary in his death:
life with him had long been glimmering in the socket, and for some
time past he might rather have been numbered with the dead than

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with the living. The public, however, are fond of seeing things in a
sinister and mysterious point of view, and there were many dark
surmises as to the cause of this event. El Zagal acted in a manner
to heighten these suspicions: he caused the treasures of his
deceased brother to be packed on mules and brought to Granada,
where he took possession of them, to the exclusion of the children
of Abul Hassan. The sultana Zoraya and her two sons were lodged
in the Alhambra, in the Tower of Comares. This was a residence in
a palace, but it had proved a royal prison to the sultana Ayxa la
Horra and her youthful son Boabdil. There the unhappy Zoraya had
time to meditate upon the disappointment of all those ambitious
schemes for herself and children for which she had stained her
conscience with so many crimes.

The corpse of old Muley was also brought to Granada–not in state

becoming the remains of a once-powerful sovereign, but transported
on a mule, like the corpse of the poorest peasant. It received no
honor or ceremonial from El Zagal, and appears to have been interred
obscurely to prevent any popular sensation; and it is recorded by an
ancient and faithful chronicler of the time that the body of the old
monarch was deposited by two Christian captives in his osario or
charnel-house. Such was the end of the turbulent Muley Abul
Hassan, who, after passing his life in constant contests for empire,
could scarce gain quiet admission into the corner of a sepulchre.

Cura de los Palacios, c. 77.

No sooner were the populace well assured that old Muley Abul
Hassan was dead and beyond recovery than they all began to
extol his memory and deplore his loss. They admitted that he
had been fierce and cruel, but then he had been brave; he had,
to be sure, pulled this war upon their heads, but he had likewise
been crushed by it. In a word, he was dead, and his death atoned
or every fault; for a king recently dead is generally either a hero or
a saint.

In proportion as they ceased to hate old Muley they began to

hate his brother. The circumstances of the old king’s death, the
eagerness to appropriate his treasures, the scandalous neglect
of his corpse, and the imprisonment of his sultana and children,
–all filled the public mind with gloomy suspicions, and the epithet
of Fratricide was sometimes substituted for that of El Zagal in the
low murmurings of the people.

As the public must always have some object to like as well as to

hate, there began once more to be an inquiry after their fugitive
king, Boabdil el Chico. That unfortunate monarch was still at
Cordova, existing on the cool courtesy and meagre friendship of
Ferdinand, which had waned exceedingly ever since Boabdil had
ceased to have any influence in his late dominions. The reviving

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interest expressed in his fate by the Moorish public, and certain
secret overtures made to him, once more aroused the sympathy
of Ferdinand: he advised Boabdil again to set up his standard
within the frontiers of Granada, and furnished him with money
and means for the purpose. Boabdil advanced but a little way into
his late territories; he took up his post at Velez el Blanco, a strong
town on the confines of Murcia: there he established the shadow of
a court, and stood, as it were, with one foot over the border, and
ready to draw that back upon the least alarm. His presence in the
kingdom, however, and his assumption of royal state gave life to his
faction in Granada. The inhabitants of the Albaycin, the poorest but
most warlike part of the populace, were generally in his favor: the
more rich, courtly, and aristocratical inhabitants of the quarter of
the Alhambra rallied round what appeared to be the most stable
authority and supported the throne of El Zagal. So it is in the
admirable order of sublunary affairs: everything seeks its kind;
the rich befriend the rich, the powerful stand by the powerful,
the poor enjoy the patronage of the poor, and thus a universal
harmony prevails.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

OF THE CHRISTIAN ARMY WHICH ASSEMBLED AT THE CITY

OF CORDOVA.

Great and glorious was the style with which the Catholic sovereigns
opened another year’s campaign of this eventful war. It was like
commencing another act of a stately and heroic drama, where the
curtain rises to the inspiring sound of martial melody and the whole
stage glitters with the array of warriors and the pomp of arms. The
ancient city of Cordova was the place appointed by the sovereigns
for the assemblage of the troops; and early in the spring of 1486
the fair valley of the Guadalquivir resounded with the shrill blast
of trumpet and the impatient neighing of the war-horse. In this
splendid era of Spanish chivalry there was a rivalship among the
nobles who most should distinguish himself by the splendor of his
appearance and the number and equipments of his feudal followers.
Every day beheld some cavalier of note, the representative of some
proud and powerful house, entering the gates of Cordova with sound
of trumpet, and displaying his banner and device renowned in many
a contest. He would appear in sumptuous array, surrounded by
pages and lackeys no less gorgeously attired, and followed by a
host of vassals and retainers, horse and foot, all admirably equipped
in burnished armor.

Such was the state of Don Inigo Lopez de Mendoza, duke of Infantado,

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who may be cited as a picture of a warlike noble of those times. He
brought with him five hundred men-at-arms of his household armed and
mounted ”a la gineta” and ”a la guisa.” The cavaliers who attended
him were magnificently armed and dressed. The housings of fifty of
his horses were of rich cloth embroidered with gold, and others were
of brocade. The sumpter mules had housings of the same, with halters
of silk, while the bridles, head-pieces, and all the harnessing glittered
with silver.

The camp equipage of these noble and luxurious warriors was equally
magnificent. Their tents were gay pavilions of various colors, fitted
up with silken hangings and decorated with fluttering pennons. They
had vessels of gold and silver for the service of their tables, as if they
were about to engage in a course of stately feasts and courtly revels,
instead of the stern encounters of rugged and mountainous warfare.
Sometimes they passed through the streets of Cordova at night in
splendid cavalcade, with great numbers of lighted torches, the rays
of which, falling upon polished armor and nodding plumes and silken
scarfs and trappings of golden embroidery, filled all beholders with
admiration.

Pulgar, part 3, cap. 41, 56.

But it was not the chivalry of Spain alone which thronged the
streets of Cordova. The fame of this war had spread throughout
Christendom: it was considered a kind of crusade, and Catholic
knights from all parts hastened to signalize themselves in so holy
a cause. There were several valiant chevaliers from France, among
whom the most distinguished was Gaston du Leon, seneschal of
Toulouse. With him came a gallant train, well armed and mounted
and decorated with rich surcoats and panaches of feathers. These
cavaliers, it is said, eclipsed all others in the light festivities of the
court: they were devoted to the fair, but not after the solemn and
passionate manner of the Spanish lovers; they were gay, gallant,
and joyous in their amours, and captivated by the vivacity of their
attacks. They were at first held in light estimation by the grave
and stately Spanish knights until they made themselves to be
respected by their wonderful prowess in the field.

The most conspicuous of the volunteers, however, who appeared in

Cordova on this occasion was an English knight of royal connection.
This was the Lord Scales, earl of Rivers, brother to the queen of
England, wife of Henry VII. He had distinguished himself in the
preceding year at the battle of Bosworth Field, where Henry Tudor,
then earl of Richmond, overcame Richard III. That decisive battle
having left the country at peace, the earl of Rivers, having conceived
a passion for warlike scenes, repaired to the Castilian court to keep
his arms in exercise in a campaign against the Moors. He brought
with him a hundred archers, all dextrous with the longbow and the
cloth-yard arrow; also two hundred yeomen, armed cap-a-pie,

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who fought with pike and battle-axe–men robust of frame and
of prodigious strength. The worthy padre Fray Antonio Agapida
describes this stranger knight and his followers with his accustomed
accuracy and minuteness.

”This cavalier,” he observes, ”was from the far island of England,

and brought with him a train of his vassals, men who had been
hardened in certain civil wars which raged in their country. They
were a comely race of men, but too fair and fresh for warriors,
not having the sunburnt, warlike hue of our old Castilian soldiery.
They were huge feeders also and deep carousers, and could not
accommodate themselves to the sober diet of our troops, but must
fain eat and drink after the manner of their own country. They were
often noisy and unruly also in their wassail, and their quarter of the
camp was prone to be a scene of loud revel and sudden brawl.
They were, withal, of great pride, yet it was not like our inflammable
Spanish pride: they stood not much upon the ”pundonor,” the high
punctilio, and rarely drew the stiletto in their disputes, but their
pride was silent and contumelious. Though from a remote and
somewhat barbarous island, they believed themselves the most
perfect men upon earth, and magnified their chieftain, the Lord
Scales, beyond the greatest of their grandees. With all this, it
must be said of them that they were marvellous good men in the
field, dextrous archers and powerful with the battle-axe. In their
great pride and self-will they always sought to press in the advance
and take the post of danger, trying to outvie our Spanish chivalry.
They did not rush on fiercely to the fight, nor make a brilliant onset
like the Moorish and Spanish troops, but they went into the fight
deliberately and persisted obstinately and were slow to find out
when they were beaten. Withal, they were much esteemed, yet
little liked, by our soldiery, who considered them stanch companions
in the field, yet coveted but little fellowship with them in the camp.

”Their commander, Lord Scales, was an accomplished cavalier, of

gracious and noble presence and fair speech: it was a marvel to see
so much courtesy in a knight brought up so far from our Castilian
court. He was much honored by the king and queen, and found great
favor with the fair dames about the court, who, indeed, are rather
prone to be pleased with foreign cavaliers. He went always in costly
state, attended by pages and esquires, and accompanied by noble
young cavaliers of his country, who had enrolled themselves under
his banner to learn the gentle exercise of arms. In all pageants and
festivals the eyes of the populace were attracted by the singular
bearing and rich array of the English earl and his train, who prided
themselves in always appearing in the garb and manner of their
country, and were, indeed, something very magnificent, delectable,
and strange to behold.”

The worthy chronicler is no less elaborate in his description of the

masters of Santiago, Calatrava, and Alcantara and their valiant

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knights, armed at all points and decorated with the badges of their
orders. These, he affirms, were the flower of Christian chivalry:
being constantly in service, they became more steadfast and
accomplished in discipline than the irregular and temporary levies
of the feudal nobles. Calm, solemn, and stately, they sat like
towers upon their powerful chargers. On parades they manifested
none of the show and ostentation of the other troops; neither in
battle did they endeavor to signalize themselves by any fiery
vivacity or desperate and vainglorious exploit: everything with
them was measured and sedate, yet it was observed that none
were more warlike in their appearance in the camp or more terrible
for their achievements in the field.

The gorgeous magnificence of the Spanish nobles found but little

favor in the eyes of the sovereigns. They saw that it caused a
competition in expense ruinous to cavaliers of moderate fortune,
and they feared that a softness and effeminacy might thus be
introduced incompatible with the stern nature of the war. They
signified their disapprobation to several of the principal noblemen,
and recommended a more sober and soldier-like display while in
actual service.

”These are rare troops for a tourney, my lord,” said Ferdinand to

the duke of Infantado as he beheld his retainers glittering in gold
and embroidery, ”but gold, though gorgeous, is soft and yielding:
iron is the metal for the field.”

”Sire,” replied the duke, ”if my men parade in gold, Your Majesty
will find they fight with steel.” The king smiled, but shook his
head, and the duke treasured up his speech in his heart.

It remains now to reveal the immediate object of this mighty and

chivalrous preparation, which had, in fact, the gratification of a
royal pique at bottom. The severe lesson which Ferdinand had
received from the veteran Ali Atar before the walls of Loxa, though
it had been of great service in rendering him wary in his attacks
upon fortified places, yet rankled sorely in his mind, and he had
ever since held Loxa in peculiar odium. It was, in truth, one of
the most belligerent and troublesome cities on the borders,
incessantly harassing Andalusia by its incursions. It also
intervened between the Christian territories and Alhama and
other important places gained in the kingdom of Granada. For
all these reasons King Ferdinand had determined to make
another grand attempt upon this warrior city, and for this
purpose had summoned to the field his most powerful chivalry.

It was in the month of May that the king sallied from Cordova at the
head of his army. He had twelve thousand cavalry and forty thousand
foot-soldiers armed with crossbows, lances, and arquebuses. There
were six thousand pioneers with hatchets, pickaxes, and crowbars for

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levelling roads. He took with him also a great train of lombards and
other heavy artillery, with a body of Germans skilled in the service
of ordnance and the art of battering walls.

It was a glorious spectacle (says Fray Antonio Agapida) to behold

this pompous pageant issuing forth from Cordova, the pennons
and devices of the proudest houses of Spain, with those of gallant
stranger knights, fluttering above a sea of crests and plumes–to
see it slowly moving, with flash of helm and cuirass and buckler,
across the ancient bridge and reflected in the waters of the
Guadalquivir, while the neigh of steed and blast of trumpet vibrated
in the air and resounded to the distant mountains. ”But, above all,”
concludes the good father, with his accustomed zeal, ”it was
triumphant to behold the standard of the faith everywhere displayed,
and to reflect that this was no worldly-minded army, intent upon
some temporal scheme of ambition or revenge, but a Christian host
bound on a crusade to extirpate the vile seed of Mahomet from the
land and to extend the pure dominion of the Church.”

CHAPTER XXXVII.

HOW FRESH COMMOTIONS BROKE OUT IN GRANADA, AND HOW

THE
PEOPLE UNDERTOOK TO ALLAY THEM.

While perfect unity of object and harmony of operation gave power

to the Christian arms, the devoted kingdom of Granada continued
a prey to internal feuds. The transient popularity of El Zagal had
declined ever since the death of his brother, and the party of Boabdil
was daily gaining strength; the Albaycin and the Alhambra were
again arrayed against each other in deadly strife, and the streets
of unhappy Granada were daily dyed in the blood of her children. In
the midst of these dissensions tidings arrived of the formidable army
assembling at Cordova. The rival factions paused in their infatuated
brawls, and were roused to a temporary sense of the common danger.
They forthwith resorted to their old expedient of new-modelling their
government, or rather of making and unmaking kings. The elevation
of El Zagal to the throne had not produced the desired effect; what,
then, was to be done? Recall Boabdil el Chico and acknowledge him
again as sovereign? While they were in a popular tumult of
deliberation Hamet Aben Zarrax, surnamed El Santo, rose among
them. This was the same wild, melancholy man who had predicted
the woes of Granada. He issued from one of the caverns of the
adjacent height which overhangs the Darro, and has since been called
the Holy Mountain. His appearance was more haggard than ever, for
the unheeded spirit of prophecy seemed to have turned inwardly and

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preyed upon his vitals. ”Beware, O Moslems,” exclaimed he, ”of men
who are eager to govern, yet are unable to protect. Why slaughter
each other for El Chico or El Zagal? Let your kings renounce their
contests, unite for the salvation of Granada, or let them be deposed.”

Hamet Aben Zarrax had long been revered as a saint–he was now
considered an oracle. The old men and the nobles immediately
consulted together how the two rival kings might be brought to
accord. They had tried most expedients: it was now determined to
divide the kingdom between them, giving Granada, Malaga, Velez
Malaga, Almeria, Almunecar, and their dependencies to El Zagal,
and the residue to Boabdil el Chico. Among the cities granted to
the latter Loxa was particularly specified, with a condition that he
should immediately take command of it in person, for the council
thought the favor he enjoyed with the Castilian monarchs might
avert the threatened attack.

El Zagal readily agreed to this arrangement: he had been hastily

elevated to the throne by an ebullition of the people, and might be
as hastily cast down again. It secured him one half of a kingdom to
which he had no hereditary right, and he trusted to force or fraud
to gain the other half hereafter. The wily old monarch even sent a
deputation to his nephew, making a merit of offering him cheerfully
the half which he had thus been compelled to relinquish, and
inviting him to enter into an amicable coalition for the good of
the country.

The heart of Boabdil shrank from all connection with a man who
had sought his life, and whom he regarded as the murderer of his
kindred. He accepted one half of the kingdom as an offer from the
nation, not to be rejected by a prince who scarcely held possession
of the ground he stood on. He asserted, nevertheless, his absolute
right to the whole, and only submitted to the partition out of anxiety
for the present good of his people. He assembled his handful of
adherents and prepared to hasten to Loxa. As he mounted his horse
to depart, Hamet Aben Zarrax stood suddenly before him. ”Be true to
thy country and thy faith,” cried he; ”hold no further communication
with these Christian dogs. Trust not the hollow-hearted friendship of
the Castilian king; he is mining the earth beneath thy feet. Choose
one of two things: be a sovereign or a slave–thou canst not be both.”

Boabdil ruminated on these words; he made many wise resolutions,

but he was prone always to act from the impulse of the moment, and
was unfortunately given to temporize in his policy. He wrote to
Ferdinand, informing him that Loxa and certain other cities had
returned to their allegiance, and that he held them as vassal to
the Castilian Crown, according to their convention. He conjured
him, therefore, to refrain from any meditated attack, offering free
passage to the Spanish army to Malaga or any other place under
the dominion of his uncle.

138
 Zurita, lib. 20, c. 68.

Ferdinand turned a deaf ear to the entreaty and to all professions

of friendship and vassalage. Boabdil was nothing to him but as an
instrument for stirring up the flames of civil war. He now insisted
that he had entered into a hostile league with his uncle, and had
consequently forfeited all claims to his indulgence; and he prosecuted
with the greater earnestness his campaign against the city of Loxa.

”Thus,” observes the worthy Fray Antonio Agapida, ”thus did this
most sagacious sovereign act upon the text in the eleventh chapter
of the evangelist St. Luke, that ’a kingdom divided against itself
cannot stand.’ He had induced these infidels to waste and destroy
themselves by internal dissensions, and finally cast forth the
survivor, while the Moorish monarchs by their ruinous contests
made good the old Castilian proverb in cases of civil war, ’El vencido
vencido, y el vencidor perdido’ (the conquered conquered, and the
conqueror undone).”

Garibay, lib. 40, c. 33.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

HOW KING FERDINAND HELD A COUNCIL OF WAR AT THE ROCK OF

THE LOVERS.

The royal army on its march against Loxa lay encamped one pleasant
evening in May in a meadow on the banks of the river Yeguas, around
the foot of a lofty cliff called the Rock of the Lovers. The quarters
of each nobleman formed as it were a separate little encampment,
his stately pavilion, surmounted by his fluttering pennon, rising
above the surrounding tents of his vassals and retainers. A little
apart from the others, as it were in proud reserve, was the
encampment of the English earl. It was sumptuous in its furniture
and complete in all its munitions. Archers and soldiers armed with
battle-axes kept guard around it, while above the standard of
England rolled out its ample folds and flapped in the evening breeze.

The mingled sounds of various tongues and nations were heard from
the soldiery as they watered their horses in the stream or busied
themselves round the fires which began to glow here and there in the
twilight–the gay chanson of the Frenchman, singing of his amours on
the pleasant banks of the Loire or the sunny regions of the Garonne;
the broad guttural tones of the German, chanting some doughty
”krieger lied” or extolling the vintage of the Rhine; the wild romance

139
of the Spaniard, reciting the achievements of the Cid and many a
famous passage of the Moorish wars; and the long and melancholy
ditty of the Englishman, treating of some feudal hero or redoubtable
outlaw of his distant island.

On a rising ground, commanding a view of the whole encampment,

stood the ample and magnificent pavilion of the king, with the banner
of Castile and Aragon and the holy standard of the cross erected
before it. In this tent there assembled the principal commanders of
the army, having been summoned by Ferdinand to a council of war
on receiving tidings that Boabdil had thrown himself into Loxa with a
considerable reinforcement. After some consultation it was determined
to invest Loxa on both sides: one part of the army should seize upon
the dangerous but commanding height of Santo Albohacen in front of
the city, while the remainder, making a circuit, should encamp on the
opposite side.

No sooner was this resolved upon than the marques of Cadiz stood
forth and claimed the post of danger in behalf of himself and those
cavaliers, his companions-in-arms, who had been compelled to
relinquish it by the general retreat of the army on the former
siege. The enemy had exulted over them as if driven from it in
disgrace. To regain that perilous height, to pitch their tents upon
it, and to avenge the blood of their valiant compeer, the master
of Calatrava, who had fallen upon it, was due to their fame: the
marques demanded, therefore, that they might lead the advance
and secure that height, engaging to hold the enemy employed
until the main army should take its position on the opposite side
of the city.

King Ferdinand readily granted his permission, upon which the count
de Cabra entreated to be admitted to a share of the enterprise. He
had always been accustomed to serve in the advance, and now that
Boabdil was in the field and a king was to be taken, he could not
content himself with remaining in the rear. Ferdinand yielded his
consent, for he was disposed to give the good count every opportunity
to retrieve his late disaster.

The English earl, when he heard there was an enterprise of danger in

question, was hot to be admitted to the party, but the king restrained
his ardor. ”These cavaliers,” said he, ”conceive that they have an
account to settle with their pride; let them have the enterprise to
themselves, my lord: if you follow these Moorish wars long, you will
find no lack of perilous service.”

The marques of Cadiz and his companions-in-arms struck their tents

before daybreak; they were five thousand horse and twelve thousand
foot, and marched rapidly along the defiles of the mountains, the
cavaliers being anxious to strike the blow and get possession of the
height of Albohacen before the king with the main army should arrive

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to their assistance.

The city of Loxa stands on a high hill between two mountains on the
banks of the Xenil. To attain the height of Albohacen the troops had
to pass over a tract of rugged and broken country and a deep valley
intersected by those canals and watercourses with which the Moors
irrigated their lands: they were extremely embarrassed in this part
of their march, and in imminent risk of being cut up in detail before
they could reach the height.

The count de Cabra, with his usual eagerness, endeavored to

push across this valley in defiance of every obstacle: he, in
consequence, soon became entangled with his cavalry among the
canals, but his impatience would not permit him to retrace his steps
and choose a more practicable but circuitous route. Others slowly
crossed another part of the valley by the aid of pontoons, while the
marques of Cadiz, Don Alonso de Aguilar, and the count de Urena,
being more experienced in the ground from their former campaign,
made a circuit round the bottom of the height, and, winding up it,
began to display their squadrons and elevate their banners on the
redoubtable post which in their former siege they had been compelled
so reluctantly to abandon.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

HOW THE ROYAL ARMY APPEARED BEFORE THE CITY OF LOXA,

AND
HOW IT WAS RECEIVED; AND OF THE DOUGHTY ACHIEVEMENTS
OF THE ENGLISH EARL.

The advance of the Christian army upon Loxa threw the wavering
Boabdil el Chico into one of his usual dilemmas, and he was greatly
perplexed between his oath of allegiance to the Spanish sovereigns
and his sense of duty to his subjects. His doubts were determined
by the sight of the enemy glittering upon the height of Albohacen
and by the clamors of the people to be led forth to battle. ”Allah,”
exclaimed he, ”thou knowest my heart: thou knowest I have been
true in my faith to this Christian monarch. I have offered to hold
Loxa as his vassal, but he has preferred to approach it as an enemy:
on his head be the infraction of our treaty!”

Boabdil was not wanting in courage; he only needed decision.

When he had once made up his mind he acted vigorously; the
misfortune was, he either did not make it up at all or he made
it up too late. He who decides tardily generally acts rashly,
endeavoring to make up by hurry of action for slowness of

141
deliberation. Boabdil hastily buckled on his armor and sallied
forth surrounded by his guards, and at the head of five hundred
horse and four thousand foot, the flower of his army. Some he
detached to skirmish with the Christians, who were scattered
and perplexed in the valley, and to prevent their concentrating
their forces, while with his main body he pressed forward to drive
the enemy from the height of Albohacen before they had time to
collect there in any number or to fortify themselves in that
important position.

The worthy count de Cabra was yet entangled with his cavalry among
the water-courses of the valley when he heard the war-cries of the
Moors and saw their army rushing over the bridge. He recognized
Boabdil himself, by his splendid armor, the magnificent caparison of
his steed, and the brilliant guard which surrounded him. The royal
host swept on toward the height of Albohacen: an intervening hill
hid it from his sight, but loud shouts and cries, the din of drums
and trumpets, and the reports of arquebuses gave note that the
battle had begun.

Here was a royal prize in the field, and the count de Cabra unable
to get into the action! The good cavalier was in an agony of
impatience; every attempt to force his way across the valley only
plunged him into new difficulties. At length, after many eager but
ineffectual efforts, he was obliged to order his troops to dismount,
and slowly and carefully to lead their horses back along slippery
paths and amid plashes of mire and water where often there was
scarce a foothold. The good count groaned in spirit and sweat with
mere impatience as he went, fearing the battle might be fought and
the prize won or lost before he could reach the field. Having at
length toilfully unravelled the mazes of the valley and arrived at
firmer ground, he ordered his troops to mount, and led them full
gallop to the height. Part of the good count’s wishes were satisfied,
but the dearest were disappointed: he came in season to partake
of the very hottest of the fight, but the royal prize was no longer
in the field.

Boabdil had led on his men with impetuous valor, or rather with
hurried rashness. Heedlessly exposing himself in the front of the
battle, he received two wounds in the very first encounter. His
guards rallied round him, defended him with matchless valor, and
bore him bleeding out of the action. The count de Cabra arrived
just in time to see the loyal squadron crossing the bridge and
slowly conveying their disabled monarch toward the gate of
the city.

The departure of Boabdil made no difference in the fury of the

battle. A Moorish warrior, dark and terrible in aspect, mounted on
a black charger, and followed by a band of savage Gomeres, rushed
forward to take the lead. It was Hamet el Zegri, the fierce alcayde

142
of Ronda, with the remnant of his once-redoubtable garrison.
Animated by his example, the Moors renewed their assaults upon
the height. It was bravely defended, on one side by the marques
of Cadiz, on another by Don Alonso de Aguilar, and as fast as the
Moors ascended they were driven back and dashed down the
declivities. The count de Urena took his stand upon the fatal spot
where his brother had fallen; his followers entered with zeal into
the feelings of their commander, and heaps of the enemy sunk
beneath their weapons–sacrifices to the manes of the lamented
master of Calatrava.

The battle continued with incredible obstinacy. The Moors knew

the importance of the height to the safety of the city; the cavaliers
felt their honors staked to maintain it. Fresh supplies of troops
were poured out of the city: some battled on the height, while some
attacked the Christians who were still in the valley and among the
orchards and gardens to prevent their uniting their forces. The
troops in the valley were gradually driven back, and the whole host
of the Moors swept around the height of Albohacen. The situation of
the marques de Cadiz and his companions was perilous in the extreme:
they were a mere handful, and, while fighting hand to hand with the
Moors who assailed the height, were galled from a distance by the
crossbows and arquebuses of a host that augmented each moment
in number. At this critical juncture King Ferdinand emerged from the
mountains with the main body of the army, and advanced to an
eminence commanding a full view of the field of action. By his side
was the noble English cavalier, the earl of Rivers. This was the
first time he had witnessed a scene of Moorish warfare. He looked
with eager interest at the chance-medley fight before him, where
there was the wild career of cavalry, the irregular and tumultuous
rush of infantry, and where Christian and Moor were intermingled
in deadly struggle. The high blood of the English knight mounted
at the sight, and his soul was stirred within him by the confused
war-cries, the clangor of drums and trumpets, and the reports of
arquebuses. Seeing that the king was sending a reinforcement to
the field, he entreated permission to mingle in the affray and fight
according to the fashion of his country. His request being granted,
he alighted from his steed: he was merely armed ”en blanco”–that
is to say, with morion, back-piece, and breast-plate–his sword was
girded by his side, and in his hand he wielded a powerful battle-axe.
He was followed by a body of his yeomen armed in like manner, and
by a band of archers with bows made of the tough English yew tree.
The earl turned to his troops and addressed then briefly and bluntly,
according to the manner of his country. ”Remember, my merry men
all,” said he, ”the eyes of strangers are upon you; you are in a
foreign land, fighting for the glory of God and the honor of merry
old England!” A loud shout was the reply. The earl waved his battle-
axe over his head. ”St. George for England!” cried he, and to the
inspiring sound of this old English war-cry he and his followers
rushed down to the battle with manly and courageous hearts.

143
They soon made their way into the midst of the enemy, but when
engaged in the hottest of the fight they made no shouts nor outcries.
They pressed steadily forward, dealing their blows to right and left,
hewing down the Moors and cutting their way with their battle-
axes like woodmen in a forest; while the archers, pressing into the
opening they made, plied their bows vigorously and spread death
on every side.

Cura de los Palacios.

When the Castilian mountaineers beheld the valor of the English

yeomanry, they would not be outdone in hardihood. They could
not vie with them in weight or bulk, but for vigor and activity they
were surpassed by none. They kept pace with them, therefore,
with equal heart and rival prowess, and gave a brave support to
the stout Englishmen.

The Moors were confounded by the fury of these assaults and

disheartened by the loss of Hamet el Zegri, who was carried
wounded from the field. They gradually fell back upon the bridge;
the Christians followed up their advantage, and drove them over
it tumultuously. The Moors retreated into the suburb, and Lord
Rivers and his troops entered with them pell-mell, fighting in the
streets and in the houses. King Ferdinand came up to the scene
of action with his royal guard, and the infidels were driven within
the city walls. Thus were the suburbs gained by the hardihood of
the English lord, without such an event having been premeditated.

Cura de los Palacios, MS.

The earl of Rivers, notwithstanding he had received a wound, still

urged forward in the attack. He penetrated almost to the city gate,
in defiance of a shower of missiles that slew many of his followers.
A stone hurled from the battlements checked his impetuous career:
it struck him in the face, dashed out two of his front teeth, and laid
him senseless on the earth. He was removed to a short distance by
his men, but, recovering his senses, refused to permit himself to be
taken from the suburb.

When the contest was over the streets presented a piteous

spectacle, so many of their inhabitants had died in the defence
of their thresholds or been slaughtered without resistance.
Among the victims was a poor weaver who had been at work
in his dwelling at this turbulent moment. His wife urged him to
fly into the city. ”Why should I fly?” said the Moor–”to be
reserved for hunger and slavery? I tell you, wife, I will await
the foe here, for better is it to die quickly by the steel than to
perish piecemeal in chains and dungeons.” He said no more,
but resumed his occupation of weaving, and in the indiscriminate
fury of the assault was slaughtered at his loom.

144
 Pulgar, part 3, c. 58.

The Christians remained masters of the field, and proceeded to pitch

three encampments for the prosecution of the siege. The king, with
the great body of the army, took a position on the side of the city
next to Granada; the marques of Cadiz and his brave companions
once more pitched their tents upon the height of Santo Albohacen;
but the English earl planted his standard sturdily within the suburb
he had taken.

CHAPTER XL.

CONCLUSION OF THE SIEGE OF LOXA.

Having possession of the heights of Albohacen and the suburb of

the city, the Christians were enabled to choose the most favorable
situations for their batteries. They immediately destroyed the stone
bridge by which the garrison had made its sallies, and they threw
two wooden bridges across the river and others over the canals and
streams, so as to establish an easy communication between the
different camps.

When all was arranged a heavy fire was opened upon the city from
various points. They threw not only balls of stone and iron, but
great carcasses of fire, which burst like meteors on the houses,
wrapping them instantly in a blaze. The walls were shattered and
the towers toppled down by tremendous discharges from the lombards.
Through the openings thus made they could behold the interior of the
city–houses tumbling or in flames, men, women, and children flying
in terror through the streets, and slaughtered by the shower of
missiles sent through the openings from smaller artillery and from
crossbows and arquebuses.

The Moors attempted to repair the breaches, but fresh discharges

from the lombards buried them beneath the ruins of the walls they
were mending. In their despair many of the inhabitants rushed forth
into the narrow streets of the suburbs and assailed the Christians
with darts, scimetars, and poniards, seeking to destroy rather than
defend, and heedless of death in the confidence that to die fighting
with an unbeliever was to be translated at once to Paradise.

For two nights and a day this awful scene continued, when certain
of the principal inhabitants began to reflect upon the hopelessness
of the conflict: their king was disabled, their principal captains were
either killed or wounded, their fortifications little better than heaps

145
of ruins. They had urged the unfortunate Boabdil to the conflict;
they now clamored for a capitulation. A parley was procured from the
Christian monarch, and the terms of surrender were soon adjusted.
They were to yield up the city immediately, with all their Christian
captives, and to sally forth with as much of their property as they
could take with them. The marques of Cadiz, on whose honor and
humanity they had great reliance, was to escort them to Granada
to protect them from assault or robbery: such as chose to remain in
Spain were to be permitted to reside in Castile, Aragon, or Valencia.
As to Boabdil el Chico, he was to do homage as vassal to King
Ferdinand, but no charge was to be urged against him of having
violated his former pledge. If he should yield up all pretensions to
Granada, the title of duke of Guadix was to be assigned to him and
the territory thereto annexed, provided it should be recovered from
El Zagal within six months.

The capitulation being arranged, they gave as hostages the alcayde

of the city and the principal officers, together with the sons of their
late chieftain, the veteran Ali Atar. The warriors of Loxa then issued
forth, humbled and dejected at having to surrender those walls which
they had so long maintained with valor and renown, and the women
and children filled the air with lamentations at being exiled from their
native homes.

Last came forth Boabdil, most truly called El Zogoybi, the Unlucky.
Accustomed, as he was, to be crowned and uncrowned, to be ransomed
and treated as a matter of bargain, he had acceded of course to the
capitulation. He was enfeebled by his wounds and had an air of
dejection, yet, it is said, his conscience acquitted him of a breach of
faith toward the Castilian sovereigns, and the personal valor he had
displayed had caused a sympathy for him among many of the Christian
cavaliers. He knelt to Ferdinand according to the forms of vassalage,
and then departed in melancholy mood for Priego, a town about three
leagues distant.

Ferdinand immediately ordered Loxa to be repaired and strongly

garrisoned. He was greatly elated at the capture of this place, in
consequence of his former defeat before its walls. He passed great
encomiums upon the commanders who had distinguished themselves,
and historians dwelt particularly upon his visit to the tent of the
English earl. His Majesty consoled him for the loss of his teeth by
the consideration that he might otherwise have lost them by natural
decay, whereas the lack of them would now be esteemed a beauty
rather than a defect, serving as a trophy of the glorious cause in
which he had been engaged.

The earl replied that he gave thanks to God and to the Holy Virgin
for being thus honored by a visit from the most potent king in
Christendom; that he accepted with all gratitude his gracious

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consolation for the loss of his teeth, though he held it little to
lose two teeth in the service of God, who had given him all–”A
speech,” says Fray Antonio Agapida, ”full of most courtly wit and
Christian piety; and one only marvels that it should have been
made by a native of an island so far distant from Castile.”

CHAPTER XLI.

CAPTURE OF ILLORA.

King Ferdinand followed up his victory at Loxa by laying siege to

the strong town of Illora. This redoubtable fortress was perched
upon a high rock in the midst of a spacious valley. It was within
four leagues of the Moorish capital, and its lofty castle, keeping
vigilant watch over a wide circuit of country, was termed the right
eye of Granada.

The alcayde of Illora was one of the bravest of the Moorish

commanders, and made every preparation to defend his fortress
to the last extremity. He sent the women and children, the aged
and infirm, to the metropolis. He placed barricades in the suburbs,
opened doors of communication from house to house, and pierced
their walls with loopholes for the discharge of crossbows, arquebuses,
and other missiles.

King Ferdinand arrived before the place with all his forces; he
stationed himself upon the hill of Encinilla, and distributed the
other encampments in various situations so as to invest the
fortress. Knowing the valiant character of the alcayde and the
desperate courage of the Moors, he ordered the encampments
to be fortified with trenches and palisadoes, the guards to be
doubled, and sentinels to be placed in all the watch-towers of
the adjacent heights.

When all was ready the duke del Infantado demanded the attack: it
was his first campaign, and he was anxious to disprove the royal
insinuation made against the hardihood of his embroidered chivalry.
King Ferdinand granted his demand, with a becoming compliment to
his spirit; he ordered the count de Cabra to make a simultaneous
attack upon a different quarter. Both chiefs led forth their troops–
those of the duke in fresh and brilliant armor, richly ornamented,
and as yet uninjured by the service of the field; those of the count
were weatherbeaten veterans, whose armor was dented and
hacked in many a hard-fought battle. The youthful duke blushed at
the contrast. ”Cavaliers,” cried he, ”we have been reproached with
the finery of our array: let us prove that a trenchant blade may

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rest in a gilded sheath. Forward! to the foe! and I trust in God
that as we enter this affray knights well accoutred, so we shall
leave it cavaliers well proved.” His men responded by eager
acclamations, and the duke led them forward to the assault. He
advanced under a tremendous shower of stones, darts, balls, and
arrows, but nothing could check his career; he entered the suburb
sword in hand; his men fought furiously, though with great loss,
for every dwelling had been turned into a fortress. After a severe
conflict they succeeded in driving the Moors into the town about the
same time that the other suburb was carried by the count de Cabra
and his veterans. The troops of the duke del Infantado came out of
the contest thinned in number and covered with blood and dust and
wounds; they received the highest encomiums of the king, and there
was never afterward any sneer at their embroidery.

The suburbs being taken, three batteries, each furnished with eight
huge lombards, were opened upon the fortress. The damage and
havoc were tremendous, for the fortifications had not been constructed
to withstand such engines. The towers were overthrown, the walls
battered to pieces; the interior of the place was all exposed, houses
were demolished, and many people slain. The Moors were terrified
by the tumbling ruins and the tremendous din. The alcayde had
resolved to defend the place until the last extremity: he beheld it
a heap of rubbish; there was no prospect of aid from Granada;
his people had lost all spirit to fight and were vociferous for a
surrender; with a reluctant heart he capitulated. The inhabitants
were permitted to depart with all their effects, excepting their arms,
and were escorted in safety by the duke del Infantado and the count
de Cabra to the bridge of Pinos, within two leagues of Granada.

King Ferdinand gave directions to repair the fortifications of Illora

and to place it in a strong state of defence. He left as alcayde
of the town and fortress Gonsalvo de Cordova, younger brother
of Don Alonso de Aguilar. This gallant cavalier was captain of the
royal guards of Ferdinand and Isabella, and gave already proofs
of that prowess which afterward rendered him so renowned.

CHAPTER XLII.

OF THE ARRIVAL OF QUEEN ISABELLA AT THE CAMP BEFORE MO-

CLIN,
AND OF THE PLEASANT SAYINGS OF THE ENGLISH EARL.

The war of Granada, however poets may embroider it with the flowers
of their fancy, was certainly one of the sternest of those iron conflicts
which have been celebrated under the name of ”holy wars.” The worthy

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Fray Antonio Agapida dwells with unsated delight upon the succession
of rugged mountain-enterprises, bloody battles, and merciless sackings
and ravages which characterized it; yet we find him on one occasion
pausing in the full career of victory over the infidels to detail a stately
pageant of the Catholic sovereigns.

Immediately on the capture of Loxa, Ferdinand had written to Isabella,

soliciting her presence at the camp that he might consult with her as
to the disposition of their newly-acquired territories.

It was in the early part of June that the queen departed from Codova
with the princess Isabella and numerous ladies of her court. She had
a glorious attendance of cavaliers and pages, with many guards and
domestics. There were forty mules for the use of the queen, the
princess, and their train.

As this courtly cavalcade approached the Rock of the Lovers on the

banks of the river Yeguas, they beheld a splendid train of knights
advancing to meet them. It was headed by that accomplished cavalier
the marques-duke de Cadiz, accompanied by the adelantado of
Andalusia. He had left the camp the day after the capture of Illora,
and advanced thus far to receive the queen and escort her over
the borders. The queen received the marques with distinguished
honor, for he was esteemed the mirror of chivalry. His actions in
this war had become the theme of every tongue, and many hesitated
not to compare him in prowess with the immortal Cid.

Cura de los Palacios.

Thus gallantly attended, the queen entered the vanquished frontier

of Granada, journeying securely along the pleasant banks of the
Xenil, so lately subject to the scourings of the Moors. She stopped
at Loxa, where she administered aid and consolation to the wounded,
distributing money among them for their support according to their rank.

The king after the capture of Illora had removed his camp before
the fortress of Moclin, with an intention of besieging it. Thither
the queen proceeded, still escorted through the mountain-roads
by the marques of Cadiz. As Isabella drew near to the camp the
duke del Infantado issued forth a league and a half to receive her,
magnificently arrayed and followed by all his chivalry in glorious
attire. With him came the standard of Seville, borne by the men-
at-arms of that renowned city, and the prior of St. Juan with his
followers. They ranged themselves in order of battle on the left
of the road by which the queen was to pass.

The worthy Agapida is loyally minute in his description of the state

and grandeur of the Catholic sovereigns. The queen rode a chestnut
mule, seated in a magnificent saddle-chair decorated with silver
gilt. The housings of the mule were of fine crimson cloth, the

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borders embroidered with gold, the reins and head-piece were
of satin, curiously embossed with needlework of silk and wrought
with golden letters. The queen wore a brial or regal skirt of velvet,
under which were others of brocade; a scarlet mantle, ornamented
in the Moresco fashion; and a black hat, embroidered round the crown
and brim. The infanta was likewise mounted on a chestnut mule
richly caparisoned: she wore a brial or skirt of black brocade and a
black mantle ornamented like that of the queen.

When the royal cavalcade passed by the chivalry of the duke del
Infantado, which was drawn out in battle array, the queen made a
reverence to the standard of Seville and ordered it to pass to the
right hand. When she approached the camp the multitude ran forth
to meet her with great demonstrations of joy, for she was universally
beloved by her subjects. All the battalions sallied forth in military
array, bearing the various standards and banners of the camp, which
were lowered in salutation as she passed.

The king now came forth in royal state, mounted on a superb chestnut
horse and attended by many grandees of Castile. He wore a jubon or
close vest of crimson cloth, with cuisses or short skirts of yellow satin,
a loose cassock of brocade, a rich Moorish scimetar, and a hat with
plumes. The grandees who attended him were arrayed with wonderful
magnificence, each according to his taste and invention.

These high and mighty princes (says Antonio Agapida) regarded each
other with great deference as allied sovereigns, rather than with
connubial familiarity as mere husband and wife. When they approached
each other, therefore, before embracing, they made three profound
reverences, the queen taking off her hat and remaining in a silk net
or caul, with her face uncovered. The king then approached and
embraced her, and kissed her respectfully on the cheek. He also
embraced his daughter the princess, and, making the sign of the
cross, he blessed her and kissed her on the lips.

Cura de los Palacios.

The good Agapida seems scarcely to have been more struck with
the appearance of the sovereigns than with that of the English earl.
He followed (says he) immediately after the king, with great pomp
and, in an extraordinary manner, taking precedence of all the rest.
He was mounted ”a la guisa,” or with long stirrups, on a superb
chestnut horse, with trappings of azure silk which reached to the
ground. The housings were of mulberry powdered with stars of gold.
He was armed in proof, and wore over his armor a short French mantle
of black brocade; he had a white French hat with plumes, and carried
on his left arm a small round buckler banded with gold. Five pages
attended him, apparelled in silk and brocade and mounted on horses
sumptuously caparisoned; he had also a train of followers bravely
attired after the fashion of his country.

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 He advanced in a chivalrous and courteous manner, making his
reverences first to the queen and infanta, and afterward to the
king. Queen Isabella received him graciously, complimenting him
on his courageous conduct at Loxa, and condoling with him on the
loss of his teeth. The earl, however, made light of his disfiguring
wound, saying that ”our Blessed Lord, who had built all that house,
had opened a window there, that he might see more readily what
passed within;” whereupon the worthy Fray Antonio Agapida is
more than ever astonished at the pregnant wit of this island cavalier.
The earl continued some little distance by the side of the royal
family, complimenting them all with courteous speeches, his horse
curveting and caracoling, but being managed with great grace and
dexterity, leaving the grandees and the people at large not more
filled with admiration at the strangeness and magnificence of his
state than at the excellence of his horsemanship.

Pietro Martyr, Epist. 61.

Cura de los Palacios.

To testify her sense of the gallantry and services of this noble

English knight, who had come from so far to assist in their wars,
the queen sent him the next day presents of twelve horses, with
stately tents, fine linen, two beds with coverings of gold brocade,
and many other articles of great value.

Having refreshed himself, as it were, with the description of this

progress of Queen Isabella to the camp and the glorious pomp of
the Catholic sovereigns, the worthy Antonio Agapida returns with
renewed relish to his pious work of discomfiting the Moors.

The description of this royal pageant and the particulars concerning

the English earl, thus given from the manuscript of Fray Antonio
Agapida, agree precisely with the chronicle of Andres Bernaldez, the
curate of Los Palacios. The English earl makes no further figure in
this war. It appears from various histories that he returned in the
course of the year to England. In the following year his passion
for fighting took him to the Continent, at the head of four hundred
adventurers, in aid of Francis, duke of Brittany, against Louis XI.
of France. He was killed in the same year (1488) in the battle of
St. Alban’s between the Bretons and the French.

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CHAPTER XLIII.

HOW KING FERDINAND ATTACKED MOCLIN, AND OF THE STRANGE

EVENTS THAT ATTENDED ITS CAPTURE.

”The Catholic sovereigns,” says Fray Antonio Agapida, ”had by

this time closely clipped the right wing of the Moorish vulture.”
In other words, most of the strong fortresses along the western
frontier of Granada had fallen beneath the Christian artillery. The
army now lay encamped before the town of Moclin, on the frontier
of Jaen, one of the most stubborn fortresses of the border. It stood
on a high rocky hill, the base of which was nearly girdled by a river:
a thick forest protected the back part of the town toward the
mountain. Thus strongly situated, it domineered, with its frowning
battlements and massive towers, all the mountain-passes into that
part of the country, and was called ”the shield of Granada.” It had
a double arrear of blood to settle with the Christians: two hundred
years before, a master of Santiago and all his cavaliers had been
lanced by the Moors before its gates. It had recently made terrible
slaughter among the troops of the good count de Cabra in his
precipitate attempt to entrap the old Moorish monarch. The pride
of Ferdinand had been piqued by being obliged on that occasion
to recede from his plan and abandon his concerted attack on the
place; he was now prepared to take a full revenge.

El Zagal, the old warrior-king of Granada, anticipating a second

attempt, had provided the place with ample ammunitions and
provisions, had ordered trenches to be digged and additional
bulwarks thrown up, and caused all the old men, the women,
and the children to be removed to the capital.

Such was the strength of the fortress and the difficulties of its
position that Ferdinand anticipated much trouble in reducing it,
and made every preparation for a regular siege. In the centre of
his camp were two great mounds, one of sacks of flour, the other of
grain, which were called the royal granary. Three batteries of heavy
ordnance were opened against the citadel and principal towers, while
smaller artillery, engines for the discharge of missiles, arquebuses,
and crossbows, were distributed in various places to keep up a fire
into any breaches that might be made, and upon those of the
garrison who should appear on the battlements.

The lombards soon made an impression on the works, demolishing a

part of the wall and tumbling down several of those haughty towers
which, from their height, had been impregnable before the invention
of gunpowder. The Moors repaired their walls as well as they were
able, and, still confiding in the strength of their situation, kept up a
resolute defence, firing down from their lofty battlements and towers

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upon the Christian camp. For two nights and a day an incessant fire
was kept up, so that there was not a moment in which the roaring
of ordnance was not heard or some damage sustained by the
Christians or the Moors. It was a conflict, however, more of engineers
and artillerists than of gallant cavaliers; there was no sally of troops
nor shock of armed men nor rush and charge of cavalry. The knights
stood looking on with idle weapons, waiting until they should have
an opportunity of signalizing their prowess by scaling the walls or
storming the breaches. As the place, however, was assailable only in
one part, there was every prospect of a long and obstinate resistance.

The engineers, as usual, discharged not merely balls of stone and

iron to demolish the walls, but flaming balls of inextinguishable
combustibles designed to set fire to the houses. One of these, which
passed high through the air like a meteor, sending out sparks and
crackling as it went, entered the window of a tower which was used
as a magazine of gunpowder. The tower blew up with a tremendous
explosion; the Moors who were upon its battlements were hurled
into the air, and fell mangled in various parts of the town, and the
houses in its vicinity were rent and overthrown as with an earthquake.

The Moors, who had never witnessed an explosion of the kind,

ascribed the destruction of the tower to a miracle. Some who had
seen the descent of the flaming ball imagined that fire had fallen
from heaven to punish them for their pertinacity. The pious Agapida
himself believes that this fiery missive was conducted by divine
agency to confound the infidels–an opinion in which he is supported
by other Catholic historians.

Pulgar, Garibay; Lucio Marino Siculo, Cosas Memoral. de Hispan.,

lib.20.

Seeing heaven and earth, as it were, combined against them, the

Moors lost all heart: they capitulated, and were permitted to depart
with their effects, leaving behind all arms and munitions of war.

The Catholic army (says Antonio Agapida) entered Moclin in solemn

state, not as a licentious host intent upon plunder and desolation,
but as a band of Christian warriors coming to purify and regenerate
the land. The standard of the cross, that ensign of this holy crusade,
was borne in the advance, followed by the other banners of the
army. Then came the king and queen at the head of a vast number
of armed cavaliers. They were accompanied by a band of priests and
friars, with the choir of the royal chapel chanting the canticle ”Te
Deum laudamus.” As they were moving through the streets in this
solemn manner, every sound hushed excepting the anthem of the
choir, they suddenly heard, issuing as it were from under ground, a
chorus of voices chanting in solemn response ”Benedictum qui venit
in nomine Domini.” The procession paused in wonder. The sounds
rose from Christian captives, and among them several priests, who

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were confined in subterraneous dungeons.

Marino Siculo.

The heart of Isabella was greatly touched. She ordered the captives
to be drawn forth from their cells, and was still more moved at
beholding, by their wan, discolored, and emaciated appearance, how
much they had suffered. Their hair and beards were overgrown and
shagged; they were wasted by hunger, half naked, and in chains.
She ordered that they should be clothed and cherished, and money
furnished them to bear them to their homes.

Illescas, Hist. Pontif., lib. 6, c. 20, xA4 1.

Several of the captives were brave cavaliers who had been wounded
and made prisoners in the defeat of the count de Cabra by El Zagal
in the preceding year. There were also found other melancholy traces
of that disastrous affair. On visiting the narrow pass where the
defeat had taken place, the remains of several Christian warriors
were found in thickets or hidden behind rocks or in the clefts of the
mountains. These were some who had been struck from their horses
and wounded too severely to fly. They had crawled away from the
scene of action, and concealed themselves to avoid falling into the
hands of the enemy, and had thus perished miserably and alone. The
remains of those of note were known by their armor and devices, and
were mourned over by their companions who had shared the disaster
of that day.

Pulgar, part 3, cap. 61.

The queen had these remains piously collected as the relics of so

many martyrs who had fallen in the cause of the faith. They were
interred with great solemnity in the mosques of Moclin, which had
been purified and consecrated to Christian worship. ”There,” says
Antonio Agapida, ”rest the bones of those truly Catholic knights,
in the holy ground which in a manner had been sanctified by their
blood; and all pilgrims passing through those mountains offer up
prayers and masses for the repose of their souls.”

The queen remained for some time at Moclin, administering comfort to

the wounded and the prisoners, bringing the newly-acquired territory
into order, and founding churches and monasteries and other pious
institutions. ”While the king marched in front, laying waste the land
of the Philistines,” says the figurative Antonio Agapida, ”Queen
Isabella followed his traces as the binder follows the reaper, gathering
and garnering the rich harvest that has fallen beneath his sickle. In
this she was greatly assisted by the counsels of that cloud of bishops,
friars, and other saintly men which continually surrounded her,
garnering the first fruits of this infidel land into the granaries of the
Church.” Leaving her thus piously employed, the king pursued his

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career of conquest, determined to lay waste the Vega and carry fire
and sword to the very gates of Granada.

CHAPTER XLIV.

HOW KING FERDINAND FORAGED THE VEGA; AND OF THE BATTLE

OF THE BRIDGE OF PINOS, AND THE FATE OF THE TWO
MOORISH BROTHERS.

Muley Abdallah el Zagal had been under a spell of ill-fortune ever

since the suspicious death of the old king his brother. Success had
deserted his standard, and with his fickle subjects want of success
was one of the greatest crimes in a sovereign. He found his
popularity declining, and he lost all confidence in his people. The
Christian army marched in open defiance through his territories,
and sat down deliberately before his fortresses; yet he dared not
lead forth his legions to oppose them, lest the inhabitants of the
Albaycin, ever ripe for a revolt, should rise and shut the gates of
Granada against his return.

Every few days some melancholy train entered the metropolis, the
inhabitants of some captured town bearing the few effects spared
them, and weeping and bewailing the desolation of their homes.
When the tidings arrived that Illora and Moclin had fallen, the people
were seized with consternation. ”The right eye of Granada is
extinguished,” exclaimed they; ”the shield of Granada is broken:
what shall protect us from the inroad of the foe?” When the
survivors of the garrisons of those towns arrived, with downcast
looks, bearing the marks of battle and destitute of arms and
standards, the populace reviled them in their wrath, but they
answered, ”We fought as long as we had force to fight or walls
to shelter us; but the Christians laid our town and battlements
in ruins, and we looked in vain for aid from Granada.”

The alcaydes of Illora and Moclin were brothers; they were alike
in prowess and the bravest among the Moorish cavaliers. They
had been the most distinguished in those tilts and tourneys which
graced the happier days of Granada, and had distinguished
themselves in the sterner conflicts of the field. Acclamation had
always followed their banners, and they had long been the delight
of the people. Yet now, when they returned after the capture of
their fortresses, they were followed by the unsteady populace with
execrations. The hearts of the alcaydes swelled with indignation;
they found the ingratitude of their countrymen still more intolerable
than the hostility of the Christians.

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 Tidings came that the enemy was advancing with his triumphant
legions to lay waste the country about Granada. Still El Zagal did
not dare to take the field. The two alcaydes of Illora and Moclin
stood before him. ”We have defended your fortresses,” said they,
”until we were almost buried under their ruins, and for our reward
we receive scoffings and revilings: give us, O king, an opportunity
where knightly valor may signalize itself–not shut up behind stone
walls, but in the open conflict of the field. The enemy approaches
to lay our country desolate: give us men to meet him in the advance,
and let shame light upon our heads if we be found wanting in the
battle!”

The two brothers were sent forth with a large force of horse and
foot; El Zagal intended, should they be successful, to issue forth
with his whole force, and by a decisive victory repair the losses he
had suffered. When the people saw the well-known standards of
the brothers going forth to battle, there was a feeble shout, but
the alcaydes passed on with stern countenances, for they knew
the same voices would curse them were they to return unfortunate.
They cast a farewell look upon fair Granada and upon the beautiful
fields of their infancy, as if for these they were willing to lay down
their lives, but not for an ungrateful people.

The army of Ferdinand had arrived within two leagues of Granada,

at the bridge of Pinos, a pass famous in the wars of the Moors and
Christians for many a bloody conflict. It was the pass by which the
Castilian monarchs generally made their inroads, and was capable of
great defence from the ruggedness of the country and the difficulty
of the bridge. The king, with the main body of the army, had
attained the brow of a hill, when they beheld the advance guard,
under the marques of Cadiz and the master of Santiago, furiously
attacked by the enemy in the vicinity of the bridge. The Moors
rushed to the assault with their usual shouts, but with more than
usual ferocity. There was a hard struggle at the bridge; both
parties knew the importance of that pass.

The king particularly noted the prowess of two Moorish cavaliers,

alike in arms and devices, and whom by their bearing and attendance
he perceived to be commanders of the enemy. They were the two
brothers, the alcaydes of Illora and Moclin. Wherever they turned
they carried confusion and death into the ranks of the Christians,
but they fought with desperation rather than valor. The count de
Cabra and his brother Don Martin de Cordova pressed forward with
eagerness against them, but, having advanced too precipitately, were
surrounded by the foe and in imminent danger. A young Christian
knight, seeing their peril, hastened with his followers to their
relief. The king recognized him for Don Juan de Aragon, count of
Ribargoza, his own nephew, for he was illegitimate son of the duke
of Villahermosa, illegitimate brother of King Ferdinand. The
splendid armor of Don Juan and the sumptuous caparison of his

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steed rendered him a brilliant object of attack. He was assailed
on all sides and his superb steed slain under him, yet still he fought
valiantly, bearing for a time the brunt of the fight and giving the
exhausted forces of the count de Cabra time to recover breath.

Seeing the peril of these troops and the general obstinacy of the
fight, the king ordered the royal standard to be advanced, and
hastened with all his forces to the relief of the count de Cabra. At
his approach the enemy gave way and retreated toward the bridge.
The two Moorish commanders endeavored to rally their troops and
animate them to defend this pass to the utmost: they used prayers,
remonstrances, menaces, but almost in vain. They could only collect
a scanty handful of cavaliers; with these they planted themselves
at the head of the bridge and disputed it inch by inch. The fight was
hot and obstinate, for but few could contend hand to hand, yet many
discharged crossbows and arquebuses from the banks. The river
was covered with the floating bodies of the slain. The Moorish band
of cavaliers was almost entirely cut to pieces; the two brothers fell,
covered with wounds, upon the bridge they had so resolutely
defended. They had given up the battle for lost, but had determined
not to return alive to ungrateful Granada.

When the people of the capital heard how devotedly they had fallen,
they lamented greatly their deaths and extolled their memory: a
column was erected to their honor in the vicinity of the bridge,
which long went by the name of ”the Tomb of the Brothers.”

The army of Ferdinand now marched on and established its camp in

the vicinity of Granada. The worthy Agapida gives many triumphant
details of the ravages committed in the Vega, which was again laid
waste, the grain, fruits, and other productions of the earth
destroyed, and that earthly paradise rendered a dreary desert.
He narrates several fierce but ineffectual sallies and skirmishes
of the Moors in defence of their favorite plain; among which one
deserves to be mentioned, as it records the achievements of one
of the saintly heroes of this war.

During one of the movements of the Christian army near the walls
of Granada a battalion of fifteen hundred cavalry and a large force
of foot had sallied from the city, and posted themselves near some
gardens, which were surrounded by a canal and traversed by ditches
for the purpose of irrigation.

The Moors beheld the duke del Infantado pass by with his two
splendid battalions–one of men-at-arms, the other of light cavalry
armed ”a la gineta.” In company with him, but following as a rear-
guard, was Don Garcia Osorio, the belligerent bishop of Jaen,
attended by Francisco Bovadillo, the corregidor of his city, and
followed by two squadrons of men-at-arms from Jaen, Anduxar,
Ubeda, and Baeza. The success of last year’s campaign had given

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the good bishop an inclination for warlike affairs, and he had once
more buckled on his cuirass.

Pulgar, part 3, cap. 62.

The Moors were much given to stratagem in warfare. They looked

wistfully at the magnificent squadrons of the duke del Infantado,
but their martial discipline precluded all attack: the good bishop
promised to be a more easy prey. Suffering the duke and his troops
to pass unmolested, they approached the squadrons of the bishop, and
making a pretended attack, skirmished slightly and fled in apparent
confusion. The bishop considered the day his own, and, seconded
by his corregidor Bovadillo, followed with valorous precipitation. The
Moors fled into the ”Huerta del Rey,” or Orchard of the King; the
troops of the bishop followed hotly after them.

When the Moors perceived their pursuers fairly embarrassed among

the intricacies of the garden, they turned fiercely upon them, while
some of their number threw open the sluices of the Xenil. In an
instant the canal which encircled and the ditches which traversed
the garden were filled with water, and the valiant bishop and his
followers found themselves overwhelmed by a deluge. A scene of
great confusion succeeded. Some of the men of Jaen, stoutest of
heart and hand, fought with the Moors in the garden, while others
struggled with the water, endeavoring to escape across the canal,
in which attempt many horses were drowned.

Pulgar.

Fortunately, the duke del Infantado perceived the snare into which
his companions had fallen, and despatched his light cavalry to their
assistance. The Moors were compelled to flight, and driven along
the road of Elvira up to the gates of Granada. Several Christian
cavaliers perished in this affray; the bishop himself escaped with
difficulty, having slipped from his saddle in crossing the canal,
but saving himself by holding on to the tail of his charger. This
perilous achievement seems to have satisfied the good bishop’s
belligerent propensities. He retired on his laurels (says Agapida)
to his city of Jaen, where, in the fruition of all good things, he
gradually waxed too corpulent for his corselet, which was hung
up in the hall of his episcopal palace, and we hear no more of his
military deeds throughout the residue of the holy war of Granada.

Pulgar.

”Don Luis Osorio fue obispo de Jaen desde el ano de 1483, y

presidio in esta. Iglesia hasta el de 1496 in que murio en Flandes,
a donde fue acompanando a la princesa Dona Juana, esposa del
archiduque Don Felipe.”–”Espana Sagrada,” por Fr. M. Risco, tom.
41, trat. 77, cap. 4.

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 King Ferdinand, having completed his ravage of the Vega and kept
El Zagal shut up in his capital, conducted his army back through the
Pass of Lope to rejoin Queen Isabella at Moclin.

The fortresses lately taken being well garrisoned and supplied, he

gave the command of the frontier to his cousin, Don Fadrique de
Toledo, afterward so famous in the Netherlands as the duke of Alva.
The campaign being thus completely crowned with success, the
sovereigns returned in triumph to the city of Cordova.

CHAPTER XLV.

ATTEMPT OF EL ZAGAL UPON THE LIFE OF BOABDIL, AND HOW

THE
LATTER WAS ROUSED TO ACTION.

No sooner did the last squadron of Christian cavalry disappear

behind the mountains of Elvira and the note of its trumpets die away
upon the ear than the long-suppressed wrath of Muley el Zagal
burst forth. He determined no longer to be half a king, reigning over
a divided kingdom in a divided capital, but to exterminate by any
means, fair or foul, his nephew Boabdil and his faction. He turned
furiously upon those whose factious conduct had deterred him from
sallying upon the foe: some he punished by confiscations, others by
banishment, others by death. Once undisputed monarch of the entire
kingdom, he trusted to his military skill to retrieve his fortunes and
drive the Christians over the frontier.

Boabdil, however, had again retired to Velez el Blanco, on the

confines of Murcia, where he could avail himself, in case of
emergency, of any assistance or protection afforded him by the
policy of Ferdinand. His defeat had blighted his reviving fortunes,
for the people considered him as inevitably doomed to misfortune.
Still, while he lived El Zagal knew he would be a rallying-point for
faction, and liable at any moment to be elevated into power by
the capricious multitude. He had recourse, therefore, to the most
perfidious means to compass his destruction. He sent ambassadors
to him representing the necessity of concord for the salvation of the
kingdom, and even offering to resign the title of king and to become
subject to his sway on receiving some estate on which he could live
in tranquil retirement. But while the ambassadors bore these words
of peace they were furnished with poisoned herbs, which they
were to administer secretly to Boabdil, and if they failed in this
attempt they had pledged themselves to despatch him openly while
engaged in conversation. They were instigated to this treason by

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promises of great reward, and by assurances from the alfaquis that
Boabdil was an apostate whose death would be acceptable to Heaven.

The young monarch was secretly apprised of the concerted treason,

and refused an audience to the ambassadors. He denounced his uncle
as the murderer of his father and his kindred and the usurper of his
throne, and vowed never to relent in hostility to him until he should
place his head on the walls of the Alhambra.

Open war again broke out between the two monarchs, though feebly
carried on in consequence of their mutual embarrassments. Ferdinand
again extended his assistance to Boabdil, ordering the commanders of
his fortresses to aid him in all enterprises against his uncle, and
against such places as refused to acknowledge him as king; and Don
Juan de Bonavides, who commanded in Lorca, even made inroads in his
name into the territories of Almeria, Baza, and Guadix, which owned
allegiance to El Zagal.

The unfortunate Boabdil had three great evils to contend with–

the inconstancy of his subjects, the hostility of his uncle, and the
friendship of Ferdinand. The last was by far the most baneful: his
fortunes withered under it. He was looked upon as the enemy of
his faith and of his country. The cities shut their gates against him;
the people cursed him; even the scanty band of cavaliers who had
hitherto followed his ill-starred banner began to desert him, for he
had not wherewithal to reward nor even to support them. His spirits
sank with his fortune, and he feared that in a little time he should
not have a spot of earth whereon to plant his standard nor an
adherent to rally under it.

In the midst of his despondency he received a message from his

lion-hearted mother, the sultana Ayxa la Horra. It was brought by
the steadfast adherent to their fortunes, Aben Comixa. ”For shame,”
said she, ”to linger timorously about the borders of your kingdom
when a usurper is seated in your capital! Why look abroad for
perfidious aid when you have loyal hearts beating true to you in
Granada? The Albaycin is ready to throw open its gates to receive
you. Strike home vigorously–a sudden blow may mend all or make an
end. A throne or a grave!–for a king there is no honorable medium.”

Boabdil was of an undecided character, but there are circumstances

which bring the most wavering to a decision, and when once resolved
they are apt to act with a daring impulse unknown to steadier
judgments. The message of the sultana roused him from a dream.
Granada, beautiful Granada, with its stately Alhambra, its delicious
gardens, its gushing and limpid fountains sparkling among groves
of orange, citron, and myrtle, rose before him. ”What have I done,”
exclaimed he, ”that I should be an exile from this paradise of my
forefathers–a wanderer and fugitive in my own kingdom, while a
murderous usurper sits proudly upon my throne? Surely Allah will

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befriend the righteous cause; one blow, and all may be my own.”

He summoned his scanty band of cavaliers. ”Who is ready to follow

his monarch unto the death?” said he; and every one laid his hand
upon his scimetar. ”Enough!” said he; ”let each man arm himself
and prepare his steed in secret for an enterprise of toil and peril;
if we succeed, our reward is empire.”

CHAPTER XLVI.

HOW BOABDIL RETURNED SECRETLY TO GRANADA, AND HOW HE

WAS RECEIVED.–SECOND EMBASSY OF DON JUAN DE VERA,
AND HIS PERILS IN THE ALHAMBRA.

”In the hand of God,” exclaimed an old Arabian chronicler, ”is the
destiny of princes; he alone giveth empire. A Moorish horseman,
mounted on a fleet Arabian steed, was one day traversing the
mountains which extended between Granada and the frontier of Murcia.
He galloped swiftly through the valleys, but paused and looked out
cautiously from the summit of every height. A squadron of cavaliers
followed warily at a distance. There were fifty lances. The richness
of their armor and attire showed them to be warriors of noble rank,
and their leader had a lofty and prince-like demeanor.” The
squadron thus described by the Arabian chronicler was the Moorish
king Boabdil and his devoted followers.

For two nights and a day they pursued their adventurous journey,
avoiding all populous parts of the country and choosing the most
solitary passes of the mountains. They suffered severe hardships and
fatigues, but suffered without a murmur: they were accustomed to
rugged campaigning, and their steeds were of generous and unyielding
spirit. It was midnight, and all was dark and silent as they descended
from the mountains and approached the city of Granada. They passed
along quietly under the shadow of its walls, until they arrived near the
gate of the Albaycin. Here Boabdil ordered his followers to halt and
remain concealed. Taking but four or five with him, he advanced
resolutely to the gate and knocked with the hilt of his scimetar. The
guards demanded who sought to enter at that unseasonable hour.
”Your king!” exclaimed Boabdil; ”open the gate and admit him!”

The guards held forth a light and recognized the person of the
youthful monarch. They were struck with sudden awe and threw
open the gates, and Boabdil and his followers entered unmolested.
They galloped to the dwellings of the principal inhabitants of the
Albaycin, thundering at their portals and summoning them to arise
and take arms for their rightful sovereign. The summons was

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instantly obeyed: trumpets resounded throughout the streets–the
gleam of torches and the flash of arms showed the Moors hurrying to
their gathering-places; by daybreak the whole force of the Albaycin
was rallied under the standard of Boabdil, and Aben Comixa was
made alcayde of the fortress. Such was the success of this sudden
and desperate act of the young monarch, for we are assured by
contemporary historians that there had been no previous concert or
arrangement. ”As the guards opened the gates of the city to admit
him,” observes a pious chronicler, ”so God opened the hearts of the
Moors to receive him as their king.”

Pulgar.

In the morning early the tidings of this event roused El Zagal from
his slumbers in the Alhambra. The fiery old warrior assembled his
guard in haste and made his way, sword in hand, to the Albaycin,
hoping to come upon his nephew by surprise. He was vigorously
met by Boabdil and his adherents, and driven back into the quarter
of the Alhambra. An encounter took place between the two kings
in the square before the principal mosque; here they fought hand
to hand with implacable fury, as though it had been agreed to decide
their competition for the crown by single combat. In the tumult of
this chance-medley affray, however, they were separated, and the
party of El Zagal was ultimately driven from the square.

The battle raged for some time in the streets and places of the
city, but, finding their powers of mischief cramped within such
narrow limits, both parties sallied forth into the fields and fought
beneath the walls until evening. Many fell on both sides, and at
night each party withdrew into its quarter until the morning gave
them light to renew the unnatural conflict. For several days the
two grand divisions of the city remained like hostile powers arrayed
against each other. The party of the Alhambra was more numerous
than that of the Albaycin, and contained most of the nobility and
chivalry; but the adherents of Boabdil were men hardened and
strengthened by labor and habitually skilled in the exercise of arms.

The Albaycin underwent a kind of siege by the forces of El Zagal;

they effected breaches in the walls, and made repeated attempts
to carry it sword in hand, but were as often repulsed. The troops
of Boabdil, on the other hand, made frequent sallies, and in the
conflicts which took place the hatred of the combatants arose to
such a pitch of fury that no quarter was given on either side.

Boabdil perceived the inferiority of his force; he dreaded also that

his adherents, being for the most part tradesmen and artisans, would
become impatient of this interruption of their gainful occupations
and disheartened by these continual scenes of carnage. He sent
missives, therefore, in all haste to Don Fadrique de Toledo, who
commanded the Christian forces on the frontier, entreating his

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assistance.

Don Fadrique had received instructions from the politic Ferdinand

to aid the youthful monarch in all his contests with his uncle. He
advanced with a body of troops near to Granada. The moment Boabdil
discerned, from the towers of the Albaycin, the Christian banners
and lances winding round the base of the mountain of Elvira, he
sallied forth to meet them, escorted by a squadron of Abencerrages
under Aben Comixa. El Zagal, who was equally on the alert, and
apprised that the Christian troops came in aid of his nephew,
likewise sallied forth and drew up his troops in battle array. Don
Fadrique, wary lest some treachery should be intended, halted
among some plantations of olives, retained Boabdil by his side, and
signified his wish that Aben Comixa would advance with his squadron
and offer battle to the old king. The provocation was given, but El
Zagal maintained his position. He threw out some light parties,
however, which skirmished with the Abencerrages of Aben Comixa,
after which he caused his trumpets to sound a recall, and retired
into the city, mortified, it is said, that the Christian cavaliers
should witness these fratricidal discords between true believers.

Don Fadrique, still distrustful, drew off to a distance, and encamped

for the night near the bridge of Cabillas.

Early in the morning a Moorish cavalier with an escort approached

the advance guard, and his trumpets sounded a parley. He craved an
audience as an envoy from El Zagal, and was admitted to the tent of
Don Fadrique. El Zagal had learnt that the Christian troops had come
to aid his nephew, and now offered to enter into an alliance with
them on terms still more advantageous than those of Boabdil. The
wary Don Fadrique listened to the Moor with apparent complacency,
but determined to send one of his most intrepid and discreet
cavaliers, under the protection of a flag, to hold a conference with
the old king within the very walls of the Alhambra. The officer
chosen for this important mission was Don Juan de Vera, the same
stanch and devout cavalier who in times preceding the war had
borne the message from the Castilian sovereigns to old Muley Abul
Hassan demanding arrears of tribute. Don Juan was received with
great ceremony by the king. No records remain of his diplomatic
negotiations, but they extended into the night, and, it being too
late to return to camp, he was sumptuously lodged in an apartment of
the Alhambra. In the morning one of the courtiers about the palace,
somewhat given to jest and raillery, invited Don Juan to a ceremony
which some of the alfaquis were about to celebrate in the mosque
of the palace. The religious punctilio of this most discreet cavalier
immediately took umbrage at what he conceived a banter. ”The
servants of Queen Isabella of Castile,” replied he, stiffly and sternly,
”who bear on their armor the cross of St. Jago, never enter the
temples of Mahomet but to level them to the earth and trample
on them.”

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 The Moslem courtier retired somewhat disconcerted by this Catholic
but not very courteous reply, and reported it to a renegado of
Antiquera. The latter, eager, like all renegados, to show devotion
to his newly-adopted creed, volunteered to return with the courtier
and have a tilt of words with the testy diplomatist. They found Don
Juan playing a game of chess with the alcayde of the Alhambra, and
took occasion to indulge in sportive comments on some of the
mysteries of the Christian religion. The ire of this devout knight and
discreet ambassador began to kindle, but he restrained it within
the limits of lofty gravity. ”You would do well,” said he, ”to cease
talking about what you do not understand.” This only provoked light
attacks of the witlings, until one of them dared to make some
degrading and obscene comparison between the Blessed Virgin
and Amina, the mother of Mahomet. In an instant Don Juan sprang
to his feet, dashed chess-board and chess-men aside, and, drawing
his sword, dealt, says the curate of los Palacios, such a ”fermosa
cuchillada” (such a handsome slash) across the head of the
blaspheming Moor as felled him to the earth. The renegado, seeing
his comrade fall, fled for his life, making the halls and galleries ring
with his outcries. Guards, pages, and attendants rushed in, but
Don Juan kept them at bay until the appearance of the king restored
order. On inquiring into the cause of the affray he acted with proper
discrimination. Don Juan was held sacred as an ambassador, and
the renegado was severely punished for having compromised the
hospitality of the royal palace.

The tumult in the Alhambra, however, soon caused a more

dangerous tumult in the city. It was rumored that Christians had
been introduced into the palace with some treasonable design. The
populace caught up arms and ascended in throngs to the Gate of
Justice, demanding the death of all Christian spies and those who
had introduced them. This was no time to reason with an infuriate
mob, when the noise of their clamors might bring the garrison of the
Albaycin to back them. Nothing was left for El Zagal but to furnish
Don Juan with a disguise, a swift horse, and an escort, and to let
him out of the Alhambra by a private gate. It was a sore grievance
to the stately cavalier to have to submit to these expedients, but
there was no alternative. In Moorish disguise he passed through
crowds that were clamoring for his head, and, once out of the gate
of the city, gave reins to his horse, nor ceased spurring until he
found himself safe under the banners of Don Fadrique.

Thus ended the second embassy of Don Juan de Vera, less stately
but more perilous than the first. Don Fadrique extolled his prowess,
whatever he may have thought of his discretion, and rewarded him
with a superb horse, while at the same time he wrote a letter to El
Zagal thanking him for the courtesy and protection he had observed
to his ambassador. Queen Isabella also was particularly delighted
with the piety of Don Juan and his promptness in vindicating the

164
immaculate character of the Blessed Virgin, and, besides conferring
on him various honorable distinctions, made him a royal present of
three hundred thousand maravedis.

Alcantara, Hist. Granad., vol. 3, c. 17, apud De Harro, Nobiliario

Genealogico, lib. 5, cap. 15.

The report brought by this cavalier of affairs in Granada, together

with the preceding skirmishings between the Moorish factions before
the walls, convinced Don Fadrique that there was no collusion
between the monarchs: on returning to his frontier post, therefore,
he sent Boabdil a reinforcement of Christian foot-soldiers and
arquebusiers, under Fernan Alvarez de Sotomayor, alcayde of
Colomera. This was as a firebrand thrown in to light up anew
the flames of war in the city, which remained raging between
the Moorish inhabitants for the space of fifty days.

CHAPTER XLVII.

HOW KING FERDINAND LAID SIEGE TO VELEZ MALAGA.

Hitherto the events of this renowned war have been little else than
a succession of brilliant but brief exploits, such as sudden forays,
wild skirmishes among the mountains, and the surprisals of castles,
fortresses, and frontier towns. We approach now to more important
and prolonged operations, in which ancient and mighty cities, the
bulwarks of Granada, were invested by powerful armies, subdued by
slow and regular sieges, and thus the capital left naked and alone.

The glorious triumphs of the Christian sovereigns (says Fray Antonio

Agapida) had resounded throughout the East and filled all
heathenesse with alarm. The Grand Turk, Bajazet II., and his deadly
foe, the grand soldan of Egypt, suspending for a time their bloody
feuds, entered into a league to protect the religion of Mahomet and
the kingdom of Granada from the hostilities of the Christians. It
was concerted between them that Bajazet should send a powerful
armada against the island of Sicily, then appertaining to the
Spanish Crown, for the purpose of distracting the attention of the
Castilian sovereigns, while at the same time great bodies of troops
should be poured into Granada from the opposite coast of Africa.

Ferdinand and Isabella received timely intelligence of these

designs. They resolved at once to carry the war into the sea-
board of Granada, to possess themselves of its ports, and thus,
as it were, to bar the gates of the kingdom against all external aid.
Malaga was to be the main object of attack: it was the principal

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seaport of the kingdom, and almost necessary to its existence. It
had long been the seat of opulent commerce, sending many ships
to the coasts of Syria and Egypt. It was also the great channel of
communication with Africa, through which were introduced supplies
of money, troops, arms, and steeds from Tunis, Tripoli, Fez, Tremezan,
and other Barbary powers. It was emphatically called, therefore,
”the hand and mouth of Granada.” Before laying siege to this
redoubtable city, however, it was deemed necessary to secure the
neighboring city of Velez Malaga and its dependent places, which
might otherwise harass the besieging army.

For this important campaign the nobles of the kingdom were again
summoned to take the field with their forces in the spring of 1487.
The menaced invasion of the infidel powers of the East had awakened
new ardor in the bosoms of all true Christian knights, and so zealously
did they respond to the summons of the sovereigns that an army of
twenty thousand cavalry and fifty thousand foot, the flower of Spanish
warriors, led by the bravest of Spanish cavaliers, thronged the
renowned city of Cordova at the appointed time.

On the night before this mighty host set forth upon its march an
earthquake shook the city. The inhabitants, awakened by the shaking
of the walls and rocking of the towers, fled to the courts and
squares, fearing to be overwhelmed by the ruins of their dwellings.
The earthquake was most violent in the quarter of the royal residence,
the site of the ancient palace of the Moorish kings. Many looked upon
this as an omen of some impending evil; but Fray Antonio Agapida, in
that infallible spirit of divination which succeeds an event, plainly
reads in it a presage that the empire of the Moors was about to be
shaken to its centre.

It was on Saturday, the eve of the Sunday of Palms (says a worthy

and loyal chronicler of the time), that the most Catholic monarch
departed with his army to render service to Heaven and make war
upon the Moors. Heavy rains had swelled all the streams and
rendered the roads deep and difficult. The king, therefore, divided
his host into two bodies. In one he put all the artillery, guarded
by a strong body of horse, and commanded by the master of Alcantara
and Martin Alonso, senior of Montemayor. This division was to proceed
by the road through the valleys, where pasturage abounded for the
oxen which drew the ordnance.

Pulgar, Cronica de los Reyes Catholicos.

The main body of the army was led by the king in person. It was
divided into numerous battalions, each commanded by some
distinguished cavalier. The king took the rough and perilous road of
the mountains, and few mountains are more rugged and difficult than
those of Andalusia. The roads are mere mule-paths straggling amidst
rocks and along the verge of precipices, clambering vast craggy

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heights, or descending into frightful chasms and ravines, with scanty
and uncertain foothold for either man or steed. Four thousand
pioneers were sent in advance, under the alcayde de los Donceles, to
conquer in some degree the asperities of the road. Some had pickaxes
and crowbars to break the rocks, others had implements to construct
bridges over the mountain-torrents, while it was the duty of others
to lay stepping-stones in the smaller streams. As the country was
inhabited by fierce Moorish mountaineers, Don Diego de Castrillo was
despatched with a body of horse and foot to take possession of the
heights and passes. Notwithstanding every precaution, the royal army
suffered excessively on its march. At one time there was no place to
encamp for five leagues of the most toilsome and mountainous country,
and many of the beasts of burden sank down and perished on the road.

It was with the greatest joy, therefore, that the royal army emerged
from these stern and frightful defiles, and came to where they looked
down upon the vega of Velez Malaga. The region before them was
one of the most delectable to the eye that ever was ravaged by an
army. Sheltered from every rude blast by a screen of mountains, and
sloping and expanding to the south, this lovely valley was quickened
by the most generous sunshine, watered by the silver meanderings
of the Velez, and refreshed by cooling breezes from the Mediterranean.
The sloping hills were covered with vineyards and olive trees; the
distant fields waved with grain or were verdant with pasturage; while
round the city were delightful gardens, the favorite retreats of the
Moors, where their white pavilions gleamed among groves of oranges,
citrons, and pomegranates, and were surrounded by stately palms–
those plants of southern growth bespeaking a generous climate and
a cloudless sky.

In the upper part of this delightful valley the city of Velez Malaga
reared its warrior battlements in stern contrast to the landscape.
It was built on the declivity of a steep and insulated hill, and
strongly fortified by walls and towers. The crest of the hill rose
high above the town into a mere crag, inaccessible on every other
side, and crowned by a powerful castle, which domineered over
the surrounding country. Two suburbs swept down into the valley
from the skirts of the town, and were defended by bulwarks and
deep ditches. The vast ranges of gray mountains, often capped with
clouds, which rose to the north, were inhabited by a hardy and warlike
race, whose strong fortresses of Comares, Canillas, Competa, and
Benamargosa frowned down from cragged heights.

When the Christian host arrived in sight of this valley, a squadron

was hovering on the smooth sea before it displaying the banner of
Castile. This was commanded by the count of Trevento, and consisted
of four armed galleys, convoying a number of caravels laden with
supplies for the army.

After surveying the ground, King Ferdinand encamped on the side of

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a mountain which advanced close to the city, and was the last of a
rugged sierra, or chain of heights, that extended quite to Granada.
On the summit of this mountain, and overlooking the camp, was a
Moorish town, powerfully fortified, called Bentomiz, considered capable
of yielding great assistance to Velez Malaga. Several of the generals
remonstrated with the king for choosing a post so exposed to assaults
from the mountaineers, but he replied that he should thus cut off all
communication between Bentomiz and the city, and that, as to the
danger, his soldiers must keep the more vigilant guard against surprise.

King Ferdinand rode about, attended by several cavaliers and a small

number of cuirassiers, appointing the various stations of the camp.
Having directed a body of foot-soldiers to possess themselves, as
an advanced guard, of an important height which overlooked the
city, he retired to a tent to take refreshment. While at table he was
startled by a sudden uproar, and, looking forth, beheld his soldiers
flying before a superior force of the enemy. The king had on no
other armor but a cuirass: seizing a lance, however, he sprang upon
his horse and galloped to protect the fugitives, followed by his
handful of knights and cuirassiers. When the soldiers saw the king
hastening to their aid, they turned upon their pursuers. Ferdinand
in his eagerness threw himself into the midst of the foe. One of his
grooms was killed beside him, but before the Moor who slew him
could escape the king transfixed him with his lance. He then sought
to draw his sword, which hung at his saddle-bow, but in vain. Never
had he been exposed to such peril; he was surrounded by the enemy
without a weapon wherewith to defend himself.

In this moment of awful jeopardy the marques of Cadiz, the count

de Cabra, the adelantado of Murcia, with two other cavaliers, named
Garcilasso de la Vega and Diego de Atayde, came galloping to the
scene of action, and, surrounding the king, made a rampart of their
bodies against the assaults of the Moors. The horse of the marques
was pierced by an arrow, and that worthy cavalier exposed to
imminent danger; but with the aid of his valorous companions he
quickly put the enemy to flight, and pursued them with slaughter
to the very gates of the city.

When those loyal warriors returned from the pursuit they

remonstrated with the king for exposing his life in personal conflict,
seeing that he had so many valiant captains whose business it was
to fight. They reminded him that the life of a prince was the life of
his people, and that many a brave army was lost by the loss of its
commander. They entreated him, therefore, in future to protect
them with the force of his mind in the cabinet, rather than of his
arm in the field.

Ferdinand acknowledged the wisdom of their advice, but declared

that he could not see his people in peril without venturing his
person to assist them–a reply (say the old chroniclers) which

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delighted the whole army, inasmuch as they saw that he not only
governed them as a good king, but protected them as a valiant
captain. He, however, was conscious of the extreme peril to which
he had been exposed, and made a vow never again to venture into
battle without having his sword girt to his side.

Illescas, Hist. Pontif., lib. 6, c. 20; Vedmar, Hist. Velez Malaga.

When this achievement of the king was related to Isabella, she

trembled amidst her joy at his safety, and afterward, in memorial
of the event, granted to Velez Malaga, as the arms of the city, the
figure of the king on horseback, with a groom lying dead at his feet
and the Moors flying.

Ibid.

The camp was formed, but the artillery was yet on the road,
advancing with infinite labor at the rate of merely a league a day,
for heavy rains had converted the streams of the valleys into raging
torrents and completely broken up the roads. In the mean time, King
Ferdinand ordered an assault on the suburbs of the city. They were
carried after a sanguinary conflict of six hours, in which many
Christian cavaliers were killed and wounded, and among the latter
Don Alvaro of Portugal, son of the duke of Braganza. The suburbs
were then fortified toward the city with trenches and palisades, and
garrisoned by a chosen force under Don Fadrique de Toledo. Other
trenches were digged round the city and from the suburbs to the
royal camp, so as to cut off all communication with the surrounding
country.

Bodies of troops were also sent to take possession of the mountain-

passes by which the supplies for the army had to be brought. The
mountains, however, were so steep and rugged, and so full of defiles
and lurking-places, that the Moors could sally forth and retreat in
perfect security, frequently swooping down upon Christian convoys
and bearing off both booty and prisoners to their strongholds.
Sometimes the Moors would light fires at night on the sides of the
mountains, which would be answered by fires from the watch-towers
and fortresses. By these signals they would concert assaults upon
the Christian camp, which in consequence was obliged to be continually
on the alert.

King Ferdinand flattered himself that the manifestation of his force

had struck sufficient terror into the city, and that by offers of
clemency it might be induced to capitulate. He wrote a letter,
therefore, to the commanders, promising, in case of immediate
surrender, that all the inhabitants should be permitted to depart
with their effects, but threatening them with fire and sword if they
persisted in defence. This letter was despatched by a cavalier named
Carvajal, who, putting it on the end of a lance, reached it to the

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Moors on the walls of the city. Abul Cacim Vanegas, son of Reduan,
and alcayde of the fortress, replied that the king was too noble and
magnanimous to put such a threat in execution, and that he should
not surrender, as he knew the artillery could not be brought to the
camp, and he was promised succor by the king of Granada.

At the same time that he received this reply the king learnt that
at the strong town of Comares, upon a height about two leagues
distant from the camp, a large number of warriors had assembled
from the Axarquia, the same mountains in which the Christian
cavaliers had been massacred in the beginning of the war, and
that others were daily expected, for this rugged sierra was capable
of furnishing fifteen thousand fighting-men.

King Ferdinand felt that his army, thus disjoined and enclosed in an
enemy’s country, was in a perilous situation, and that the utmost
discipline and vigilance were necessary. He put the camp under the
strictest regulations, forbidding all gaming, blasphemy, or brawl,
and expelling all loose women and their attendant bully ruffians,
the usual fomenters of riot and contention among soldiery. He
ordered that none should sally forth to skirmish without permission
from their commanders; that none should set fire to the woods on
the neighboring mountains; and that all word of security given to
Moorish places or individuals should be inviolably observed. These
regulations were enforced by severe penalties, and had such salutary
effect that, though a vast host of various people was collected
together, not an opprobrious epithet was heard nor a weapon
drawn in quarrel.

In the mean time the cloud of war continued to gather about the
summits of the mountains, and multitudes of the fierce warriors of
the sierra descended to the lower heights of Bentomiz, which
overhung the camp, intending to force their way to the city. A
detachment was sent against them, which, after sharp fighting,
drove them to the higher cliffs, where it was impossible to pursue
them.

Ten days had elapsed since the encampment of the army, yet still the
artillery had not arrived. The lombards and other heavy ordnance
were left in despair at Antiquera; the rest came groaning slowly
through the narrow valleys, which were filled with long trains of
artillery and cars laden with munitions. At length part of the smaller
ordnance arrived within half a league of the camp, and the Christians
were animated with the hopes of soon being able to make a regular
attack upon the fortifications of the city.

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CHAPTER XLVIII.

HOW KING FERDINAND AND HIS ARMY WERE EXPOSED TO IMMI-

NENT
PERIL BEFORE VELEZ MALAGA.

While the standard of the cross waved on the hills before Velez
Malaga, and every height and cliff bristled with hostile arms, the
civil war between the factions of the Alhambra and the Albaycin, or
rather between El Zagal and El Chico, continued to convulse the city
of Granada. The tidings of the investment of Velez Malaga at length
roused the attention of the old men and the alfaquis, whose heads
were not heated by the daily broils, and they endeavored to arouse
the people to a sense of their common danger.

”Why,” said they, ”continue these brawls between brethren and

kindred? What battles are these where even triumph is ignominious,
and the victor blushes and conceals his scars? Behold the Christians
ravaging the land won by the valor and blood of your forefathers,
dwelling in the houses they built, sitting under the trees they planted,
while your brethren wander about houseless and desolate. Do you
wish to seek your real foe?–he is encamped on the mountain of
Bentomiz. Do you want a field for the display of your valor?–you
will find it before the walls of Velez Malaga.”

When they had roused the spirit of the people they made their way to
the rival kings, and addressed them with like remonstrances. Hamet
Aben Zarraz, the inspired santon, reproached El Zagal with his blind
and senseless ambition. ”You are striving to be king,” said he,
bitterly, ”yet suffer the kingdom to be lost!”

El Zagal found himself in a perplexing dilemma. He had a double

war to wage–with the enemy without and the enemy within. Should
the Christians gain possession of the sea-coast, it would be ruinous
to the kingdom; should he leave Granada to oppose them, his vacant
throne might be seized on by his nephew. He made a merit of
necessity, and, pretending to yield to the remonstrances of the
alfaquis, endeavored to compromise with Boabdil. He expressed deep
concern at the daily losses of the country caused by the dissensions
of the capital: an opportunity now presented to retrieve all by a
blow. The Christians had in a manner put themselves in a tomb
between the mountains–nothing remained but to throw the earth
upon them. He offered to resign the title of king, to submit to the
government of his nephew, and fight under his standard; all he
desired was to hasten to the relief of Velez Malaga and to take full
vengeance on the Christians.

Boabdil spurned his proposition as the artifice of a hypocrite and a

171
traitor. ”How shall I trust a man,” said he, ”who has murdered my
father and my kindred by treachery, and has repeatedly sought my
own life both by violence and stratagem?”

El Zagal boiled with rage and vexation, but there was no time to be
lost. He was beset by the alfaquis and the nobles of his count; the
youthful cavaliers were hot for action, the common people loud in
their complaints that the richest cities were abandoned to the mercy
of the enemy. The old warrior was naturally fond of fighting; he saw
also that to remain inactive would endanger both crown and kingdom,
whereas a successful blow might secure his popularity in Granada.
He had a much more powerful force than his nephew, having lately
received reinforcements from Baza, Guadix, and Almeria; he could
march with a large force, therefore, to the relief of Velez Malaga,
and yet leave a strong garrison in the Alhambra. He took his
measures accordingly, and departed suddenly in the night at the
head of one thousand horse and twenty thousand foot, and urged
his way rapidly by the most unfrequented roads along the chain of
mountains extending from Granada to the heights above Velez Malaga.

The Christians were alarmed one evening by the sudden blazing

of great fires on the mountains about the fortress of Bentomiz. By
the ruddy light they beheld the flash of weapons and the array of
troops, and they heard the distant sound of Moorish drums and
trumpets. The fires of Bentomiz were answered by fires on the towers
of Velez Malaga. The shouts of ”El Zagal! El Zagal!” echoed along the
cliffs and resounded from the city, and the Christians found that the
old warrior-king of Granada was on the mountain above the camp.

The spirits of the Moors were suddenly raised to a pitch of the

greatest exultation, while the Christians were astonished to see the
storm of war ready to burst upon their heads. The count de Cabra,
with his accustomed eagerness when there was a king in the field,
would fain have scaled the heights and attacked El Zagal before
he had time to form his camp; but Ferdinand, more cool and wary,
restrained him. To attack the height would be to abandon the siege.
He ordered every one, therefore, to keep a vigilant watch at his
post and stand ready to defend it to the utmost, but on no account
to sally forth and attack the enemy.

All night the signal-fires kept blazing along the mountains, rousing
and animating the whole country. The morning sun rose over the
lofty summit of Bentomiz on a scene of martial splendor. As its rays
glanced down the mountain they lighted up the white tents of the
Christian cavaliers cresting its lower prominences, their pennons
and ensigns fluttering in the morning breeze. The sumptuous
pavilions of the king, with the holy standard of the cross and the
royal banners of Castile and Aragon, dominated the encampment.
Beyond lay the city, its lofty castle and numerous towers glistening
with arms, while above all, and just on the profile of the height,

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in the full blaze of the rising sun, were descried the tents of the
Moor, his troops clustering about them and his infidel banners
floating against the sky. Columns of smoke rose where the night-
fires had blazed, and the clash of the Moorish cymbal, the bray of
trumpet, and the neigh of steed were faintly heard from the airy
heights. So pure and transparent is the atmosphere in this region
that every object can be distinctly seen at a great distance, and
the Christians were able to behold the formidable hosts of fires
gathering on the summits of the surrounding mountains.

One of the first measures of the Moorish king was to detach a large
force, under Reduan de Vanegas, alcayde of Granada, to fall upon the
convoy of ordnance, which stretched for a great distance through the
mountain-defiles. Ferdinand had anticipated this attempt, and sent
the commander of Leon with a body of horse and foot to reinforce the
master of Alcantara. El Zagal from his mountain-height beheld the
detachment issue from the camp, and immediately recalled Reduan.
The armies now remained quiet for a time, the Moor looking grimly
down upon the Christian camp, like a tiger meditating a bound upon
his prey. The Christians were in fearful jeopardy–a hostile city below
them, a powerful army above them, and on every side mountains filled
with implacable foes.

After El Zagal had maturely considered the situation of the Christian

camp, and informed himself of all the passes of the mountain, he
conceived a plan to surprise the enemy which he flattered himself
would ensure their ruin and perhaps the capture of King Ferdinand.
He wrote a letter to the alcayde of the city, commanding him in the
dead of the night, on a signal-fire being made from the mountain,
to sally forth with all his troops and fall furiously upon the Christian
camp. The king would, at the same time, rush down with his army from
the mountain, and assail it on the opposite side, thus overwhelming
it at the hour of deep repose. This letter he despatched by a renegado
Christian, who knew all the secret roads of the country, and if taken
could pass himself for a Christian who had escaped from captivity.

El Zagal, confident in his stratagem, looked down upon the Christians

as his devoted victims. As the sun went down and the long shadows
of the mountains stretched across the vega, he pointed with exultation
to the camp below, apparently unconscious of the impending danger.
”Behold,” said he, ”the unbelievers are delivered into our hands; their
king and choicest chivalry will soon be at our mercy. Now is the time
to show the courage of men, and by one glorious victory retrieve all
that we have lost. Happy he who falls fighting in the cause of the
Prophet! he will at once be transported to the paradise of the faithful
and surrounded by immortal houris. Happy he who shall survive
victorious! he will behold Granada–an earthly paradise!–once more
delivered from its foes and restored to all its glory.” The words of El
Zagal were received with acclamations by his troops, who waited
impatiently for the appointed hour to pour down from their mountain-

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hold upon the Christians.

CHAPTER XLIX.

RESULT OF THE STRATAGEM OF EL ZAGAL TO SURPRISE

KING FERDINAND.

Queen Isabella and her court had remained at Cordova in great

anxiety for the result of the royal expedition. Every day brought
tidings of the difficulties which attended the transportation of the
ordnance and munitions and of the critical state of the army.

While in this state of anxious suspense couriers arrived with all

speed from the frontiers, bringing tidings of the sudden sally of El
Zagal from Granada to surprise the camp. All Cordova was in
consternation. The destruction of the Andalusian chivalry among
the mountains of this very neighborhood was called to mind; it
was feared that similar ruin was about to burst forth from rocks
and precipices upon Ferdinand and his army.

Queen Isabella shared in the public alarm, but it served to rouse

all the energies of her heroic mind. Instead of uttering idle
apprehensions, she sought only how to avert the danger. She called
upon all the men of Andalusia under the age of seventy to arm and
hasten to the relief of their sovereign, and she prepared to set out
with the first levies. The grand cardinal of Spain, old Pedro Gonzalez
de Mendoza, in whom the piety of the saint and the wisdom of the
counsellor were mingled with the fire of the cavalier, offered high
pay to all horsemen who would follow him to aid their king and the
Christian cause, and, buckling on armor, prepared to lead them
to the scene of danger.

The summons of the queen roused the quick Andalusian spirit.

Warriors who had long since given up fighting and had sent their
sons to battle now seized the sword and lance rusting on the
wall, and marshalled forth their gray-headed domestics and their
grandchildren for the field. The great dread was, that all aid
would arrive too late; El Zagal and his host had passed like a
storm through the mountains, and it was feared the tempest
had already burst upon the Christian camp.

In the mean time, the night had closed which had been appointed
by El Zagal for the execution of his plan. He had watched the last
light of day expire, and all the Spanish camp remained tranquil. As
the hours wore away the camp-fires were gradually extinguished.
No drum nor trumpet sounded from below. Nothing was heard but

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now and then the dull heavy tread of troops or the echoing tramp
of horses–the usual patrols of the camp–and the changes of the
guards. El Zagal restrained his own impatience and that of his
troops until the night should be advanced and the camp sunk in
that heavy sleep from which men are with difficulty awakened, and
when awakened prone to be bewildered and dismayed.

At length the appointed hour arrived. By order of the Moorish king

a bright flame sprang up from the height of Bentomiz, but El Zagal
looked in vain for the responding light from the city. His impatience
would brook no longer delay; he ordered the advance of the army
to descend the mountain-defile and attack the camp. The defile was
narrow and overhung by rocks; as the troops proceeded they came
suddenly, in a shadowy hollow, upon a dark mass of warriors who,
with a loud shout, rushed to assail them. Surprised and disconcerted,
they retreated in confusion to the height. When El Zagal heard of a
Christian force in the defile, he doubted some counter-plan of the
enemy, and gave orders to light the mountain-fires. On a signal given
bright flames sprang up on every height from pyres of wood prepared
for the purpose: cliff blazed out after cliff until the whole atmosphere
was in a glow of furnace light.

The ruddy glare lit up the glens and passes, and fell strongly upon
the Christian camp, revealing all its tents and every post and
bulwark. Wherever El Zagal turned his eyes he beheld the light of
his fires flashed back from cuirass and helm and sparkling lance; he
beheld a grove of spears planted in every pass, every assailable
point bristling with arms, and squadrons of horse and foot in battle
array awaiting his attack.

In fact, his letter to the alcayde of Velez Malaga had been

intercepted by the vigilant Ferdinand, the renegado messenger
hanged, and secret measures taken after nightfall to give the
Moors a warm reception. El Zagal saw that his plan of surprise was
discovered and foiled; furious with disappointment, he ordered his
troops forward to the attack. They rushed down the defile, but
were again encountered by the mass of Christian warriors, being the
advance guard of the army commanded by Don Hurtado de Mendoza,
brother of the grand cardinal. The Moors were again repulsed, and
retreated up the height. Don Hurtado would have followed them, but
the ascent was steep and rugged and easily defended. A sharp action
was kept up through the night with crossbows, darts, and arquebuses.
The cliffs echoed with deafening uproar, while the fires blazing upon
the mountains threw a lurid and uncertain light upon the scene.

When the day dawned and the Moors saw that there was no co-
operation from the city, they slackened in their ardor: they beheld
also every pass of the mountain filled with Christian troops, and
began to apprehend an assault in return. Just then King Ferdinand
sent the marques of Cadiz with horse and foot to seize upon a height

175
occupied by a battalion of the enemy. The marques assailed the Moors
with his usual intrepidity, and soon put them to flight. The others, who
were above, seeing their comrades fly, threw down their arms and
retreated. One of those unaccountable panics which now and then
seize upon great bodies of people, and to which the light-spirited
Moors were prone, now spread throughout the camp. They were
terrified, they knew not why nor at what, and, throwing away swords,
lances, breast-plates, crossbows, everything that could impede their
motions, scattered themselves wildly in every direction. They fled
without pursuers–from the glimpse of each other’s arms, from the
sound of each other’s footsteps. Reduan de Vanegas, the brave
alcayde of Granada, alone succeeded in collecting a body of the
fugitives; he made a circuit with them through the passes of the
mountain, and, forcing his way across a weak part of the Christian
lines, galloped toward Velez Malaga. The rest of the Moorish host
was completely scattered. In vain did El Zagal and his knights attempt
to rally them; they were left almost alone, and had to consult their
own security by flight.

The marques of Cadiz, finding no opposition, ascended from height

to height, cautiously reconnoitring and fearful of some stratagem or
ambush. All, however, was quiet. He reached with his men the place
which the Moorish army had occupied: the heights were abandoned
and strewed with cuirasses, scimetars, crossbows, and other weapons.
His force was too small to pursue the enemy, but returned to the royal
camp laden with spoils.

Ferdinand at first could not credit so signal and miraculous a defeat,

but suspected some lurking stratagem. He ordered, therefore, that
a strict watch should be maintained throughout the camp and every
one be ready for instant action. The following night a thousand
cavaliers and hidalgos kept guard about the royal tent, as they
had done for several preceding nights; nor did the king relax this
vigilance until he received certain intelligence that the enemy was
completely scattered and El Zagal flying in confusion.

The tidings of this rout and of the safety of the Christian army
arrived at Cordova just as reinforcements were on the point of
setting out. The anxiety and alarm of the queen and the public
were turned to transports of joy and gratitude. The forces were
disbanded, solemn processions were made, and ”Te Deums”
chanted in the churches for so signal a victory.

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CHAPTER L.

HOW THE PEOPLE OF GRANADA REWARDED THE VALOR OF

EL ZAGAL.

The daring spirit of Muley Abdallah el Zagal in sallying forth to

defend his territories while he left an armed rival in his capital
struck the people of Granada with admiration. They recalled his
former exploits, and again anticipated some hardy achievement from
his valor. Couriers from the army reported its formidable position
on the height of Bentomiz. For a time there was a pause in the
bloody commotions of the city; all attention was turned to the blow
about to be struck at the Christian camp. The same considerations
which diffused anxiety and terror through Cordova swelled every
bosom with exulting confidence in Granada. The Moors expected to
hear of another massacre like that in the mountains of Malaga. ”El
Zagal has again entrapped the enemy!” was the cry. ”The power of
the unbelievers is about to be struck to the heart. We shall soon
see the Christian king led captive to the capital.” Thus was the name
of El Zagal on every tongue. He was extolled as the savior of the
country, the only one worthy of wearing the Moorish crown. Boabdil
was reviled as basely remaining passive while his country was invaded
and so violent became the clamor of the populace that his adherents
trembled for his safety.

While the people of Granada were impatiently looking out for tidings
of the anticipated victory scattered horsemen came spurring across
the Vega. They were fugitives from the Moorish army, and brought
the first incoherent account of its defeat. Every one who attempted
to tell the tale of this unaccountable panic and dispersion was as if
bewildered by the broken recollection of some frightful dream. He
knew not how or why it came to pass. He talked of a battle in the
night, among rocks and precipices, by the glare of bale-fires; of
multitudes of armed foes in every pass, seen by gleams and flashes;
of the sudden horror that seized upon the army at daybreak, its
headlong flight, and total dispersion. Hour after hour the arrival
of other fugitives confirmed the story of ruin and disgrace.

In proportion to their recent vaunting was the humiliation that now

fell upon the people of Granada. There was a universal burst, not of
grief, but indignation. They confounded the leader with the army–
the deserted with those who had abandoned him, and El Zagal, from
being their idol, became suddenly the object of their execration. He
had sacrificed the army; he had disgraced the nation; he had betrayed
the country. He was a dastard, a traitor; he was unworthy to reign.

On a sudden one among the multitude shouted, ”Long live Boabdil

el Chico!” The cry was echoed on all sides, and every one shouted,

177
”Long live Boabdil el Chico! long live the legitimate king of Granada!
and death to all usurpers!” In the excitement of the moment they
thronged to the Albaycin, and those who had lately besieged Boabdil
with arms now surrounded his palace with acclamations. The keys of
the city and of all the fortresses were laid at his feet; he was borne in
state to the Alhambra, and once more seated with all due ceremony on
the throne of his ancestors.

Boabdil had by this time become so accustomed to be crowned and

uncrowned by the multitude that he put no great faith in the duration
of their loyalty. He knew that he was surrounded by hollow hearts,
and that most of the courtiers of the Alhambra were secretly devoted
to his uncle. He ascended the throne as the rightful sovereign who
had been dispossessed of it by usurpation, and he ordered the heads
of four of the principal nobles to be struck off who had been most
zealous in support of the[9]usurper. Executions of the kind were
matters of course on any change in Moorish government, and Boabdil
was lauded for his moderation and humanity in being content with so
small a sacrifice. The factions were awed into obedience; the populace,
delighted with any change, extolled Boabdil to the skies; and the name
of Muley Abdallah el Zagal was for a time a by-word of scorn and
opprobrium throughout the city.

Never was any commander more astonished and confounded by a

sudden reverse of fortune than El Zagal. The evening had seen him
with a powerful army at his command, his enemy within his grasp,
and victory about to cover him with glory and to consolidate his
power: the morning beheld him a fugitive among the mountains, his
army, his prosperity, his power, all dispelled, he knew not how–gone
like a dream of the night. In vain had he tried to stem the headlong
flight of the army. He saw his squadrons breaking and dispersing
among the cliffs of the mountains, until of all his host only a handful
of cavaliers remained faithful. With these he made a gloomy retreat
toward Granada, but with a heart full of foreboding. As he drew near
to the city he paused on the banks of the Xenil and sent forth scouts
to collect intelligence. They returned with dejected countenances.
”The gates of Granada,” said they, ”are closed against you. The
banner of Boabdil floats on the tower of the Alhambra.”

El Zagal turned his steed and departed in silence. He retreated

to the town of Almunecar, and thence to Almeria, which places still
remained faithful to him. Restless and uneasy at being so distant
from the capital, he again changed his abode, and repaired to the
city of Guadix, within a few leagues of Granada. Here he remained,
endeavoring to rally his forces and preparing to avail himself of
any sudden change in the fluctuating politics of the metropolis.

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CHAPTER LI.

SURRENDER OF VELEZ MALAGA AND OTHER PLACES.

The people of Velez Malaga had beheld the camp of Muley Abdallah
covering the summit of Bentomiz and glittering in the last rays of
the setting sun. During the night they had been alarmed and
perplexed by signal-fires on the mountain and by the sound of distant
battle. When the morning broke the Moorish army had vanished
as if by enchantment. While the inhabitants were lost in wonder and
conjecture, a body of cavalry, the fragment of the army saved by
Reduan de Vanegas, the brave alcayde of Granada, came galloping
to the gates. The tidings of the strange discomfiture of the host
filled the city with consternation, but Reduan exhorted the people
to continue their resistance. He was devoted to El Zagal and
confident in his skill and prowess, and felt assured that he would
soon collect his scattered forces and return with fresh troops from
Granada. The people were comforted by the words and encouraged
by the presence of Reduan, and they had still a lingering hope that the
heavy artillery of the Christians might be locked up in the impassable
defiles of the mountains. This hope was soon at an end. The very
next day they beheld long laborious lines of ordnance slowly moving
into the Spanish camp–lombards, ribadoquines, catapults, and cars
laden with munitions–while the escort, under the brave master of
Alcantara, wheeled in great battalions into the camp to augment the
force of the besiegers.

The intelligence that Granada had shut its gates against El Zagal,
and that no reinforcements were to be expected, completed the
despair of the inhabitants; even Reduan himself lost confidence
and advised capitulation.

Ferdinand granted favorable conditions, for he was eager to proceed

against Malaga. The inhabitants were permitted to depart with their
effects except their arms, and to reside, if they chose it, in Spain in
any place distant from the sea. One hundred and twenty Christians
of both sexes were rescued from captivity by the surrender, and were
sent to Cordova, where they were received with great tenderness by
the queen and her daughter the infanta Isabella in the famous
cathedral in the midst of public rejoicings for the victory.

The capture of Velez Malaga was followed by the surrender of

Bentomiz, Comares, and all the towns and fortresses of the Axarquia,
which were strongly garrisoned, and discreet and valiant cavaliers
appointed as their alcaydes. The inhabitants of nearly forty towns
of the Alpuxarras mountains also sent deputations to the Castilian
sovereigns, taking the oath of allegiance as mudexares or Moslem
vassals.

179
 About the same time came letters from Boabdil el Chico announcing
to the sovereigns the revolution of Granada in his favor. He solicited
kindness and protection for the inhabitants who had returned to
their allegiance, and for those of all other places which should
renounce adherence to his uncle. By this means (he observed) the
whole kingdom of Granada would soon be induced to acknowledge
his sway, and would be held by him in faithful vassalage to the
Castilian Crown.

The Catholic sovereigns complied with his request. Protection was

immediately extended to the inhabitants of Granada, permitting
them to cultivate their fields in peace and to trade with the Christian
territories in all articles excepting arms, being provided with letters
of surety from some Christian captain or alcayde. The same favor
was promised to all other places which within six months should
renounce El Zagal and come under allegiance to the younger king.
Should they not do so within that time, the sovereigns threatened
to make war upon them and conquer them for themselves. This
measure had a great effect in inducing many to return to the
standard of Boabdil.

Having made every necessary arrangement for the government

and security of the newly-conquered territory, Ferdinand turned
his attention to the great object of his campaign, the reduction
of Malaga.

CHAPTER LII.

OF THE CITY OF MALAGA AND ITS INHABITANTS.–MISSION OF

HERNANDO DEL PULGAR.

The city of Malaga lies in the lap of a fertile valley, surrounded by

mountains, excepting on the part which lies open to the sea. As
it was one of the most important, so it was one of the strongest,
cities of the Moorish kingdom. It was fortified by walls of prodigious
strength studded with a great number of huge towers. On the land
side it was protected by a natural barrier of mountains, and on the
other the waves of the Mediterranean beat against the foundations
of its massive bulwarks.

At one end of the city, near the sea, on a high mound, stood the
Alcazaba, or citadel, a fortress of great strength. Immediately
above this rose a steep and rocky mount, on the top of which in old
times had been a pharos or lighthouse, from which the height derived
its name of Gibralfaro. It was at present crowned by an immense

180
castle, which, from its lofty and cragged situation, its vast walls,
and mighty towers, was deemed impregnable. It communicated
with the Alcazaba by a covered way six paces broad, leading down
between two walls along the profile or ridge of the rock. The castle
of Gibralfaro commanded both citadel and city, and was capable, if
both were taken, of maintaining a siege. Two large suburbs adjoined
the city: in the one toward the sea were the dwelling-houses of the
most opulent inhabitants, adorned with hanging gardens; the other,
on the land side, was thickly peopled and surrounded by strong walls
and towers.

A corruption of ”Gibel-faro,” the hill of the lighthouse.

Malaga possessed a brave and numerous garrison, and the common

people were active, hardy, and resolute; but the city was rich and
commercial, and under the habitual control of numerous opulent
merchants, who dreaded the ruinous consequences of a siege. They
were little zealous for the warlike renown of their city, and longed
rather to participate in the enviable security of property and the
lucrative privileges of safe traffic with the Christian territories
granted to all places which declared for Boabdil. At the head of
these gainful citizens was Ali Dordux, a mighty merchant of
uncounted wealth, connected, it is said, with the royal family of
Granada, whose ships traded to every part of the Levant and whose
word was as a law in Malaga. Ali Dordux assembled the most opulent
and important of his commercial brethren, and they repaired in a body
to the Alcazaba, where they were received by the alcayde, Aben
Comixa, with that deference generally shown to men of their great
local dignity and power of purse. Ali Dordux was ample and stately
in his form and fluent and emphatic in his discourse; his eloquence
had an effect, therefore, upon the alcayde as he represented the
hopelessness of a defence of Malaga, the misery that must attend a
siege, and the ruin that must follow a capture by force of arms. On
the other hand, he set forth the grace that might be obtained from
the Castilian sovereigns by an early and voluntary acknowledgment
of Boabdil as king, the peaceful possession of their property, and the
profitable commerce with the Christian ports that would be allowed
them. He was seconded by his weighty and important coadjutors;
and the alcadye, accustomed to regard them as the arbiters of the
affairs of the place, yielded to their united counsels. He departed,
therefore, with all speed to the Christian camp, empowered to
arrange a capitulation with the Castilian monarch, and in the mean
time his brother remained in command of the Alcazaba.

There was at this time as alcayde in the old crag-built castle of

Gibralfaro a warlike and fiery Moor, an implacable enemy of the
Christians. This was no other than Hamet Zeli, surnamed El Zegri,
the once-formidable alcayde of Ronda and the terror of its mountains.
He had never forgiven the capture of his favorite fortress, and panted
for vengeance on the Christians. Notwithstanding his reverses, he

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had retained the favor of El Zagal, who knew how to appreciate a bold
warrior of the kind, and had placed him in command of this important
fortress of Gibralfaro.

Hamet el Zegri had gathered round him the remnant of his band
of Gomeres, with others of the same tribe recently arrived from
Morocco. These fierce warriors were nestled like so many war-hawks
about their lofty cliff. They looked down with martial contempt upon
the commercial city of Malaga, which they were placed to protect;
or, rather, they esteemed it only for its military importance and its
capability of defence. They held no communion with its trading,
gainful inhabitants, and even considered the garrison of the Alcazaba
as their inferiors. War was their pursuit and passion; they rejoiced
in its turbulent and perilous scenes; and, confident in the strength
of the city, and, above all, of their castle, they set at defiance the
menace of Christian invasion. There were among them also many
apostate Moors, who had once embraced Christianity, but had since
recanted and fled from the vengeance of the Inquisition. These were
desperadoes who had no mercy to expect should they again fall into
the hands of the enemy.

Zurita, lib. 30, cap. 71.

Such were the fierce elements of the garrison of Gibralfaro, and its
rage may easily be conceived at hearing that Malaga was to be given
up without a blow; that they were to sink into Christian vassals under
the intermediate sway of Boabdil el Chico; and that the alcayde of the
Alcazaba had departed to arrange the terms of capitulation.

Hamet determined to avert by desperate means the threatened

degradation. He knew that there was a large party in the city
faithful to El Zagal, being composed of warlike men who had taken
refuge from the various mountain-towns which had been captured;
their feelings were desperate as their fortunes, and, like Hamet,
they panted for revenge upon the Christians. With these he had a
secret conference, and received assurances of their adherence to
him in any measures of defence. As to the counsel of the peaceful
inhabitants, he considered it unworthy the consideration of a soldier,
and he spurned at the interference of the wealthy merchant Ali
Dordux in matters of warfare.

”Still,” said Hamet el Zegri, ”let us proceed regularly.” So he

descended with his Gomeres to the citadel, entered it suddenly, put
to death the brother of the alcayde and such of the garrison as made
any demur, and then summoned the principal inhabitants of Malaga
to deliberate on measures for the welfare of the city. The wealthy
merchants again mounted to the citadel, excepting Ali Dordux, who
refused to obey the summons. They entered with hearts filled with
awe, for they found Hamet surrounded by his grim African guard and
all the stern array of military power, and they beheld the bloody

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traces of the recent massacre.

Cura de los Palacios, c. 82.

Hamet rolled a dark and searching eye upon the assembly. ”Who,”
said he, ”is loyal and devoted to Muley Abdallah el Zagal?” Every
one present asserted his loyalty. ”Good!” said Hamet; ”and who is
ready to prove his devotion to his sovereign by defending this his
important city to the last extremity?” Every one present declared
his readiness. ”Enough!” observed Hamet. ”The alcayde Aben
Comixa has proved himself a traitor to his sovereign and to you
all, for he has conspired to deliver the place to the Christians. It
behooves you to choose some other commander capable of defending
your city against the approaching enemy.” The assembly declared
unanimously that no one was so worthy of the command as himself.
So Hamet was appointed alcayde of Malaga, and immediately proceeded
to man the forts and towers with his partisans and to make every
preparation for a desperate resistance.

Intelligence of these occurrences put an end to the negotiations

between King Ferdinand and the superseded alcayde Aben Comixa,
and it was supposed there was no alternative but to lay siege to
the place. The marques of Cadiz, however, found at Velez a Moorish
cavalier of some note, a native of Malaga, who offered to tamper
with Hamet el Zegri for the surrender of the city, or at least of the
castle of Gibralfaro. The marques communicated this to the king.
”I put this business and the key of my treasury into your hands,”
said Ferdinand; ”act, stipulate, and disburse in my name as you
think proper.”

The marques armed the Moor with his own lance, cuirass, and
target and mounted him on one of his own horses. He equipped in
similar style also another Moor, his companion and relative. They
bore secret letters to Hamet from the marques offering him the town
of Coin in perpetual inheritance and four thousand doblas in gold if
he would deliver up Gibralfaro, together with a farm and two thousand
doblas for his lieutenant, Ibrahim Zenete, and large sums to be
distributed among his officers and soldiers; and he offered unlimited
rewards for the surrender of the city.

Hamet had a warrior’s admiration of the marques of Cadiz, and

received his messengers with courtesy in his fortress of Gibralfaro.
He even listened to their propositions with patience, and dismissed
them in safety, though with an absolute refusal. The marques thought
his reply was not so peremptory as to discourage another effort. The
emissaries were despatched, therefore, a second time, with further
propositions. They approached Malaga in the night, but found the
guards doubled, patrols abroad, and the whole place on the alert.
They were discovered, pursued, and only saved themselves by the
fleetness of their steeds and their knowledge of the passes of

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the mountains.

Cura de los Palacios, MS., c. 82.

Finding all attempts to tamper with the faith of Hamet utterly futile,
King Ferdinand publicly summoned the city to surrender, offering
the most favorable terms in case of immediate compliance, but
threatening captivity to all the inhabitants in case of resistance.

It required a man of nerve to undertake the delivery of such a

summons in the present heated and turbulent state of the Moorish
community. Such a one stepped forward in the person of a cavalier of
the royal guards, Hernan Perez del Pulgar by name, a youth of noble
descent, who had already signalized himself by his romantic valor
and daring enterprise. Furnished with official papers for Hamet el
Zegri and a private letter from the king to Ali Dordux, he entered
the gates of Malaga under the protection of a flag, and boldly
delivered his summons in presence of the principal inhabitants.
The language of the summons or the tone in which it was delivered
exasperated the fiery spirit of the Moors, and it required all the
energy of Hamet and the influence of several of the alfaquis to
prevent an outrage to the person of the ambassador. The reply
of Hamet was haughty and decided. ”The city of Malaga has been
confided to me,” said he–”not to be surrendered, but defended, and
the king shall witness how I acquit myself of my charge.”

Pulgar, part 3, cap. 74.

His mission at an end, Hernan del Pulgar rode slowly and deliberately
through the city, utterly regardless of the scowls and menaces and
scarcely restrained turbulence of the multitude, and bore to Ferdinand
at Velez the haughty answer of the Moor, but at the same time gave
him a formidable account of the force of the garrison, the strength of
the fortifications, and the determined spirit of the commander and his
men. The king immediately sent orders to have the heavy artillery
forwarded from Antiquera, and on the 7th of May marched with his
army toward Malaga.

CHAPTER LIII.

ADVANCE OF KING FERDINAND AGAINST MALAGA.

The army of Ferdinand advanced in lengthened line, glittering along

the foot of the mountains which border the Mediterranean, while a
fleet of vessels, freighted with heavy artillery and warlike munitions,
kept pace with it at a short distance from the land, covering the sea

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with a thousand gleaming sails. When Hamet el Zegri saw this force
approaching, he set fire to the houses of the suburbs which adjoined
the walls and sent forth three battalions to encounter the advance
guard of the enemy.

The Christian army drew near to the city at that end where the
castle and rocky height of Gibralfaro defended the seaboard.
Immediately opposite, at about two bow-shots’ distance, stood
the castle, and between it and the high chain of mountains was
a steep and rocky hill, at present called the hill of St. Christobal,
commanding a pass through which the Christians must march to
penetrate to the vega and surround the city. Hamet ordered the
three battalions to take their stations–one on this hill, another in
the pass near the castle, and a third on the side of the mountain
near the sea.

A body of Spanish foot-soldiers of the advance guard, sturdy

mountaineers of Galicia, sprang forward to climb the side of the
height next the sea, at the same time a number of cavaliers and
hidalgos of the royal household attacked the Moors who guarded
the pass below. The Moors defended their posts with obstinate
valor. The Galicians were repeatedly overpowered and driven
down the hill, but as often rallied, and, being reinforced by the
hidalgos and cavaliers, returned to the assault. This obstinate
struggle lasted for six hours: the strife was of a deadly kind, not
merely with crossbows and arquebuses, but hand to hand with
swords and daggers; no quarter was claimed or given on either
side–they fought not to make captives, but to slay. It was but the
advance of the Christian army that was engaged; so narrow was
the pass along the coast that the army could proceed only in file:
horse and foot and beasts of burden were crowded one upon
another, impeding each other and blocking up the narrow and
rugged defile. The soldiers heard the uproar of the battle, the
sound of trumpets, and the war-cries of the Moors, but tried in
vain to press forward to the assistance of their companions.

At length a body of foot-soldiers of the Holy Brotherhood climbed

with great difficulty the steep side of the mountain which overhung
the pass, and advanced with seven banners displayed. The Moors,
seeing this force above them, abandoned the pass in despair. The
battle was still raging on the height; the Galicians, though supported
by Castilian troops under Don Hurtado de Mendoza and Garcilasso
de la Vega, were severely pressed and roughly handled by the Moors:
at length a brave standard-bearer, Luys Mazeda by name, threw
himself into the midst of the enemy and planted his banner on the
summit. The Galicians and Castilians, stimulated by this noble self-
devotion, followed him, fighting desperately, and the Moors were at
length driven to their castle of Gibralfaro.

Pulgar, Cronica.

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 This important height being taken, the pass lay open to the army,
but by this time evening was advancing, and the host was too weary
and exhausted to seek proper situations for the encampment. The king,
attended by several grandees and cavaliers, went the rounds at night,
stationing outposts toward the city and guards and patrols to give the
alarm on the least movement of the enemy. All night the Christians
lay upon their arms, lest there should be some attempt to sally forth
and attack them.

When the morning dawned the king gazed with admiration at this
city which he hoped soon to add to his dominions. It was surrounded
on one side by vineyards, gardens, and orchards, which covered the
hills with verdure; on the other side its walls were bathed by the
smooth and tranquil sea. Its vast and lofty towers and prodigious
castles, hoary with age, yet unimpaired in strength, showed the
labors of magnanimous men in former times to protect their favorite
abode. Hanging gardens, groves of oranges, citrons, and pomegranates,
with tall cedars and stately palms, were mingled with the stern
battlements and towers, bespeaking the opulence and luxury that
reigned within.

In the mean time, the Christian army poured through the pass, and,
throwing out its columns and extending its lines, took possession of
every vantage-ground around the city. King Ferdinand surveyed the
ground and appointed the stations of the different commanders.

The important mount of St. Christobal, which had cost so violent a

struggle and faced the powerful fortress of Gibralfaro, was given in
charge to Roderigo Ponce de Leon, marques of Cadiz, who in all
sieges claimed the post of danger. He had several noble cavaliers
with their retainers in his encampment, which consisted of fifteen
hundred horse and fourteen thousand foot, and extended from the
summit of the mount to the margin of the sea, completely blocking
up the approach to the city on that side. From this post a line of
encampments extended quite round the city to the seaboard, fortified
by bulwarks and deep ditches, while a fleet of armed ships and
galleys stretched before the harbor, so that the place was
completely invested by sea and land. The various parts of the valley
now resounded with the din of preparation, and was filled with
artificers preparing warlike engines and munitions; armorers and
smiths with glowing forges and deafening hammers; carpenters and
engineers constructing machines wherewith to assail the walls;
stone-cutters shaping stone balls for the ordnance; and burners
of charcoal preparing fuel for the furnaces and forges.

When the encampment was formed the heavy ordnance was landed
from the ships and mounted in various parts of the camp. Five huge
lombards were placed on the mount commanded by the marques of
Cadiz, so as to bear upon the castle of Gibralfaro.

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 The Moors made strenuous efforts to impede these preparations.
They kept up a heavy fire from their ordnance upon the men employed
in digging trenches or constructing batteries, so that the latter had
to work principally in the night. The royal tents had been stationed
conspicuously and within reach of the Moorish batteries, but were so
warmly assailed that they had to be removed behind a hill.

When the works were completed the Christian batteries opened

in return, and kept up a tremendous cannonade, while the fleet,
approaching the land, assailed the city vigorously on the opposite
side.

”It was a glorious and delectable sight,” observes Fray Antonio

Agapida, ”to behold this infidel city thus surrounded by sea and
land by a mighty Christian force. Every mound in its circuit was, as
it were, a little city of tents bearing the standard of some renowned
Catholic warrior. Besides the warlike ships and galleys which lay
before the place, the sea was covered with innumerable sails,
passing and repassing, appearing and disappearing, being engaged
in bringing supplies for the subsistence of the army. It seemed a
vast spectacle contrived to recreate the eye, did not the volleying
bursts of flame and smoke from the ships, which seemed to lie asleep
on the quiet sea, and the thunder of ordnance from camp and city,
from tower and battlement, tell the deadly warfare that was waging.

”At night the scene was far more direful than in the day. The
cheerful light of the sun was gone; there was nothing but the
flashes of artillery or the baleful gleams of combustibles thrown
into the city, and the conflagration of the houses. The fire kept up
from the Christian batteries was incessant: there were seven great
lombards in particular, called the Seven Sisters of Ximenes, which
did tremendous execution. The Moorish ordnance replied in thunder
from the walls; Gibralfaro was wrapped in volumes of smoke rolling
about its base; and Hamet and his Gomeres looked out with triumph
upon the tempest of war they had awaked. Truly they were so many
demons incarnate,” concludes the pious Fray Antonio Agapida, ”who
were permitted by Heaven to enter into and possess this infidel city
for its perdition.”

CHAPTER LIV.

SIEGE OF MALAGA.

The attack on Malaga by sea and land was kept up for several
days with tremendous violence, but without producing any great

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impression, so strong were the ancient bulwarks of the city. The
count de Cifuentes was the first to signalize himself by any noted
achievement. A main tower, protecting what is at present called the
suburb of Santa Ana, had been shattered by the ordnance and the
battlements demolished, so as to yield no shelter to its defenders.
Seeing this, the count assembled a gallant band of cavaliers of the
royal household and advanced to take it by storm. They applied
scaling-ladders and mounted sword in hand. The Moors, having no
longer battlements to protect them, descended to a lower floor, and
made furious resistance from the windows and loopholes. They poured
down boiling pitch and rosin, and hurled stones and darts and arrows
on the assailants. Many of the Christians were slain, their ladders
were destroyed by flaming combustibles, and the count was obliged
to retreat from before the tower. On the following day he renewed
the attack with superior force, and after a severe combat succeeded
in planting his victorious banner on the tower.

The Moors now assailed the tower in their turn. They undermined the
part toward the city, placed props of wood under the foundation, and,
setting fire to them, drew off to a distance. In a little while the props
gave way, the foundation sunk, and the tower was rent; part of its
wall fell with a tremendous noise; many of the Christians were thrown
out headlong, and the rest were laid open to the missiles of the enemy.

By this time, however, a breach had been made in the wall of the
suburb adjoining the tower, and troops poured in to the assistance
of their comrades. A continued battle was kept up for two days and
a night by reinforcements from camp and city. The parties fought
backward and forward through the breach of the wall and in the
narrow and winding streets adjacent with alternate success, and
the vicinity of the tower was strewn with the dead and wounded.
At length the Moors gradually gave way, disputing every inch of
ground, until they were driven into the city, and the Christians
remained masters of the greater part of the suburb.

This partial success, though gained with great toil and bloodshed,
gave temporary animation to the Christians; they soon found,
however, that the attack on the main works of the city was a much
more arduous task. The garrison contained veterans who had served
in many of the towns captured by the Christians. They were no longer
confounded and dismayed by the battering ordnance and other strange
engines of foreign invention, and had become expert in parrying their
effects, in repairing breaches, and erecting counter-works.

The Christians, accustomed of late to speedy conquests of Moorish

fortresses, became impatient of the slow progress of the siege. Many
were apprehensive of a scarcity of provisions from the difficulty of
subsisting so numerous a host in the heart of the enemy’s country,
where it was necessary to transport supplies across rugged and
hostile mountains or subjected to the uncertainties of the sea. Many

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also were alarmed at a pestilence which broke out in the neighboring
villages, and some were so overcome by these apprehensions as to
abandon the camp and return to their homes.

Several of the loose and worthless hangers-on that infest all great
armies, hearing these murmurs, thought that the siege would soon
be raised, and deserted to the enemy, hoping to make their fortunes.
They gave exaggerated accounts of the alarms and discontents of
the army, and represented the troops as daily returning home in
bands. Above all, they declared that the gunpowder was nearly
exhausted, so that the artillery would soon be useless. They
assured the Moors, therefore, that if they persisted a little longer
in their defence, the king would be obliged to draw off his forces
and abandon the siege.

The reports of these renegados gave fresh courage to the garrison;

they made vigorous sallies upon the camp, harassing it by night and
day, and obliging every part to be guarded with the most painful
vigilance. They fortified the weak parts of their walls with ditches
and palisadoes, and gave every manifestation of a determined and
unyielding spirit.

Ferdinand soon received intelligence of the reports which had been

carried to the Moors: he understood that they had been informed,
likewise, that the queen was alarmed for the safety of the camp, and
had written repeatedly urging him to abandon the siege. As the best
means of disproving all these falsehoods and destroying the vain
hopes of the enemy, he wrote to the queen entreating her to come
and take up her residence in the camp.

CHAPTER LV.

SIEGE OF MALAGA CONTINUED.–OBSTINACY OF HAMET EL ZEGRI.

Great was the enthusiasm of the army when they beheld their
patriot queen advancing in state to share the toils and dangers
of her people. Isabella entered the camp attended by the
dignitaries and the whole retinue of her court to manifest that this
was no temporary visit. On one side of her was her daughter, the
infanta; on the other, the grand cardinal of Spain: Hernando de
Talavera, the prior of Prado, confessor to the queen, followed,
with a great train of prelates, courtiers, cavaliers, and ladies of
distinction. The cavalcade moved in calm and stately order through
the camp, softening the iron aspect of war by this array of courtly
grace and female beauty.

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 Isabella had commanded that on her coming to the camp the horrors
of war should be suspended and fresh offers of peace made to the
enemy. On her arrival, therefore, there had been a general cessation
of firing throughout the camp. A messenger was at the same time
despatched to the besieged, informing them of her being in the camp,
and of the determination of the sovereigns to make it their settled
residence until the city should be taken. The same terms were
offered in case of immediate surrender that had been granted to
Velez Malaga, but the inhabitants were threatened with captivity
and the sword should they persist in their defence.

Hamet el Zegri received this message with haughty contempt, and

dismissed the messenger without deigning a reply, and accompanied
by an escort to prevent his holding any communication with the
inhabitants in the streets. ”The Christian sovereigns,” said Hamet
to those about him, ”have made this offer in consequence of their
despair. The silence of their batteries proves the truth of what has
been told us, that their powder is exhausted. They have no longer
the means of demolishing our walls, and if they remain much longer
the autumnal rains will interrupt their convoys and fill their camp with
famine and disease. The first storm will disperse their fleet, which
has no neighboring port of shelter: Africa will then be open to us to
procure reinforcements and supplies.”

The words of Hamet el Zegri were hailed as oracular by his

adherents. Many of the peaceful part of the community, however,
ventured to remonstrate, and to implore him to accept the proffered
mercy. The stern Hamet silenced them with a terrific threat: he
declared that whoever should talk of capitulating or should hold any
communication with the Christians should be put to death. The
Gomeres, like true men of the sword, acted upon the menace of their
chieftain as upon a written law, and, having detected several of the
inhabitants in secret correspondence with the enemy, set upon and
slew them and confiscated their effects. This struck such terror
into the citizens that those who had been loudest in their murmurs
became suddenly mute, and were remarked as evincing the greatest
bustle and alacrity in the defence of the city.

When the messenger returned to the camp and reported the

contemptuous reception of the royal message, King Ferdinand
was exceedingly indignant. Finding the cessation of firing on the
queen’s arrival had encouraged a belief among the enemy that
there was a scarcity of powder in the camp, he ordered a general
discharge from all the batteries. The sudden burst of war from
every quarter soon convinced the Moors of their error and completed
the confusion of the citizens, who knew not which most to dread,
their assailants or their defenders, the Christians or the Gomeres.

That evening the sovereigns visited the encampment of the marques

of Cadiz, which commanded a view over a great part of the city, the

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camp, and the sea with its flotillas. The tent of the marques was of
great magnitude, furnished with hangings of rich brocade and French
cloth of the rarest texture. It was in the Oriental style, and, as it
crowned the height, with the surrounding tents of other cavaliers,
all sumptuously furnished, presented a gay and silken contrast to the
opposite towers of Gibralfaro. Here a splendid collation was served
up to the sovereigns, and the courtly revel that prevailed in this
chivalrous encampment, the glitter of pageantry, and the bursts of
festive music made more striking the gloom and silence that reigned
over the Moorish castle.

The marques of Cadiz while it was yet light conducted his royal
visitors to every point that commanded a view of the warlike scene
below. He caused the heavy lombards also to be discharged, that
the queen and ladies of the court might witness the effect of those
tremendous engines. The fair dames were filled with awe and
admiration as the mountain shook beneath their feet with the
thunder of the artillery and they beheld great fragments of the
Moorish walls tumbling down the rocks and precipices.

While the good marques was displaying these things to his royal
guests he lifted up his eyes, and to his astonishment beheld his own
banner hanging out from the nearest tower of Gibralfaro. The blood
mantled in his cheek, for it was a banner which he had lost at the
time of the memorable massacre of the heights of Malaga. To make
this taunt more evident, several of the Gomeres displayed themselves
upon the battlements arrayed in the helmets and cuirasses of some
of the cavaliers slain or captured on that occasion. The marques of
Cadiz restrained his indignation and held his peace, but several of,
his cavaliers vowed loudly to revenge this cruel bravado on the
ferocious garrison of Gibralfaro.

Diego de Valera, Cronica, MS.

CHAPTER LVI.

ATTACK OF THE MARQUES OF CADIZ UPON GIBRALFARO.

The marques of Cadiz was not a cavalier that readily forgave an

injury or an insult. On the morning after the royal banquet his
batteries opened a tremendous fire upon Gibralfaro. All day the
encampment was wrapped in wreaths of smoke, nor did the assault
cease with the day, but throughout the night there was an incessant
flashing and thundering of the lombards, and the following morning
the assault rather increased than slackened in fury. The Moorish
bulwarks were no proof against those formidable engines. In a few

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days the lofty tower on which the taunting banner had been displayed
was shattered, a smaller tower in its vicinity reduced to ruins, and
a great breach made in the intervening walls.

Several of the hot-spirited cavaliers were eager for storming the

breach sword in hand; others, more cool and wary, pointed out the
rashness of such an attempt, for the Moors had worked indefatigably
in the night; they had digged a deep ditch within the breach, and
had fortified it with palisadoes and a high breastwork. All, however,
agreed that the camp might safely be advanced near to the ruined
walls, and that it ought to be done in return for the insolent defiance
of the enemy.

The marques of Cadiz felt the temerity of the measure, but was
unwilling to dampen the zeal of these high-spirited cavaliers, and,
having chosen the post of danger in the camp, it did not become him
to decline any service merely because it might appear perilous. He
ordered his outposts, therefore, to be advanced within a stone’s-
throw of the breach, but exhorted the soldiers to maintain the
utmost vigilance.

The thunder of the batteries had ceased; the troops, exhausted by

two nights’ fatigue and watchfulness, and apprehending no danger
from the dismantled walls, were half of them asleep; the rest were
scattered about in negligent security. On a sudden upward of two
thousand Moors sallied forth from the castle, led on by Ibrahim
Zenete, the principal captain under Hamet. They fell with fearful
havoc upon the advanced guard, slaying many of them in their
sleep and putting the rest to headlong flight.

The marques was in his tent, about a bow-shot distant, when he

heard the tumult of the onset and beheld his men dying in confusion.
He rushed forth, followed by his standard-bearer. ”Turn again,
cavaliers!” exclaimed he; ”I am here, Ponce de Leon! To the foe! to
the foe!” The flying troops stopped at hearing his well-known voice,
rallied under his banner, and turned upon the enemy. The encampment
by this time was roused; several cavaliers from the adjoining stations
had hastened to the scene of action, with a number of Galicians and
soldiers of the Holy Brotherhood. An obstinate and bloody contest
ensued; the ruggedness of the place, the rocks, chasms, and
declivities broke it into numerous combats: Christian and Moor fought
hand to hand with swords and daggers, and often, grappling and
struggling, rolled together down the precipices.

The banner of the marques was in danger of being taken: he hastened

to its rescue, followed by some of his bravest cavaliers. They were
surrounded by the enemy, and several of them cut down. Don Diego
Ponce de Leon, brother to the marques, was wounded by an arrow,
and his son-in-law, Luis Ponce, was likewise wounded: they succeeded,
however, in rescuing the banner and bearing it off in safety. The battle

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lasted for an hour; the height was covered with killed and wounded and
the blood flowed in streams down the rocks; at length, Ibrahim Zenete
being disabled by the thrust of a lance, the Moors gave way and
retreated to the castle.

They now opened a galling fire from their battlements and towers,
approaching the breaches so as to discharge their crossbows and
arquebuses into the advanced guard of the encampment. The
marques was singled out: the shot fell thick about him, and one
passed through his buckler and struck upon his cuirass, but without
doing him any injury. Every one now saw the danger and inutility of
approaching the camp thus near to the castle, and those who had
counselled it were now urgent that it should be withdrawn. It was
accordingly removed back to its original ground, from which the
marques had most reluctantly advanced it. Nothing but his valor
and timely aid had prevented this attack on his outpost from ending
in a total rout of all that part of the army.

Many cavaliers of distinction fell in this contest, but the loss of

none was felt more deeply than that of Ortega del Prado, captain
of escaladors. He was one of the bravest men in the service, the same
who had devised the first successful blow of the war, the storming
of Alhama, where he was the first to plant and mount the scaling-
ladders. He had always been high in the favor and confidence of the
noble Ponce de Leon, who knew how to appreciate and avail himself
of the merits of all able and valiant men.

Zurita, Mariana, Abarca.

CHAPTER LVII.

SIEGE OF MALAGIA CONTINUED.–STRATAGEMS OF VARIOUS KINDS.

Great were the exertions now made, both by the besiegers and the
besieged, to carry on the contest with the utmost vigor. Hamet went
the rounds of the walls and towers, doubling the guards and putting
everything in the best posture of defence. The garrison was divided
into parties of a hundred, to each of which a captain was appointed.
Some were to patrol, others to sally forth and skirmish with the
enemy, and others to hold themselves armed and in reserve. Six
albatozas, or floating batteries, were manned and armed with
pieces of artillery to attack the fleet.

On the other hand, the Castilian sovereigns kept open a

communication by sea with various parts of Spain, from which they
received provisions of all kinds; they ordered supplies of powder

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also from Valencia, Barcelona, Sicily, and Portugal. They made
great preparations also for storming the city. Towers of wood
were constructed to move on wheels, each capable of holding one
hundred men; they were furnished with ladders to be thrown from
their summits to the tops of the walls, and within those ladders
others were encased, to be let down for the descent of the troops
into the city. There were gallipagos, or tortoises, also being great
wooden shields, covered with hides, to protect the assailants and
those who undermined the walls.

Secret mines were commenced in various places: some were intended

to reach to the foundations of the walls, which were to be propped
up with wood, ready to be set on fire; others were to pass under the
walls, and remain ready to be broken open so as to give entrance to
the besiegers. At these mines the army worked day and night, and
during these secret preparations the ordnance kept up a fire upon
the city to divert the attention of the besieged.

In the mean time, Hamet displayed wonderful vigor and ingenuity

in defending the city and in repairing or fortifying by deep ditches
the breaches made by the enemy. He noted also every place where
the camp might be assailed with advantage, and gave the besieging
army no repose night or day. While his troops sallied on the land,
his floating batteries attacked the besiegers on the sea, so that there
was incessant skirmishing. The tents called the Queen’s Hospital
were crowded with wounded, and the whole army suffered from
constant watchfulness and fatigue. To guard against the sudden
assaults of the Moors, the trenches were deepened and palisadoes
erected in front of the camp; and in that part facing Gibralfaro, where
the rocky heights did not admit of such defences, a high rampart of
earth was thrown up. The cavaliers Garcilasso de la Vega, Juan de
Zuniga, and Diego de Atayde were appointed to go the rounds and
keep vigilant watch that these fortifications were maintained in
good order.

In a little while Hamet discovered the mines secretly commenced by

the Christians: he immediately ordered counter-mines. The soldiers
mutually worked until they met and fought hand to hand in these
subterranean passages. The Christians were driven out of one of
their mines; fire was set to the wooden framework and the mine
destroyed. Encouraged by this success, the Moors attempted a
general attack upon the camp, the mines, and the besieging fleet.
The battle lasted for six hours on land and water, above and below
ground, on bulwark, and in trench and mine; the Moors displayed
wonderful intrepidity, but were finally repulsed at all points, and
obliged to retire into the city, where they were closely invested,
without the means of receiving any assistance from abroad.

The horrors of famine were now added to the other miseries of

Malaga. Hamet, with the spirit of a man bred up to war, considered

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everything as subservient to the wants of the soldier, and ordered
all the grain in the city to be gathered and garnered up for the sole
use of those who fought. Even this was dealt out sparingly, and
each soldier received four ounces of bread in the morning and two
in the evening for his daily allowance.

The wealthy inhabitants and all those peacefully inclined mourned

over a resistance which brought destruction upon their houses,
death into their families, and which they saw must end in their
ruin and captivity; still, none of them dared to speak openly of
capitulation, or even to manifest their grief, lest they should
awaken the wrath of their fierce defenders. They surrounded their
civic champion, Ali Dordux, the great and opulent merchant, who
had buckled on shield and cuirass and taken spear in hand for
the defence of his native city, and with a large body of the braver
citizens had charge of one of the gates and a considerable portion
of the walls. Drawing Ali Dordux aside, they poured forth their
griefs to him in secret. ”Why,” said they, ”should we suffer our
native city to be made a mere bulwark and fighting-place for foreign
barbarians and desperate men? They have no families to care for,
no property to lose, no love for the soil, and no value for their
lives. They fight to gratify a thirst for blood or a desire for
revenge, and will fight on until Malaga becomes a ruin and its
people slaves. Let us think and act for ourselves, our wives,
and our children. Let us make private terms with the Christians
before it is too late, and save ourselves from destruction.”

The bowels of Ali Dordux yearned toward his fellow citizens; he

bethought him also of the sweet security of peace and the bloodless
yet gratifying triumphs of gainful traffic. The idea also of a secret
negotiation or bargain with the Castilian sovereigns for the
redemption of his native city was more conformable to his accustomed
habits than this violent appeal to arms, for, though he had for a
time assumed the warrior, he had not forgotten the merchant. Ali
Dordux communed, therefore, with the citizen-soldiers under his
command, and they readily conformed to his opinion. Concerting
together, they wrote a proposition to the Castilian sovereigns,
offering to admit the army into the part of the city entrusted to
their care on receiving assurance of protection for the lives and
properties of the inhabitants. This writing they delivered to a
trusty emissary to take to the Christian camp, appointing the
hour and place of his return that they might be ready to admit
him unperceived.

The Moor made his way in safety to the camp, and was admitted
to the presence of the sovereigns. Eager to gain the city without
further cost of blood or treasure, they gave a written promise to
grant the condition, and the Moor set out joyfully on his return.
As he approached the walls where Ali Dordux and his confederates
were waiting to receive him, he was descried by a patrolling band of

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Gomeres, and considered a spy coming from the camp of the besiegers.
They issued forth and seized him in sight of his employers, who gave
themselves up for lost. The Gomeres had conducted him nearly to the
gate, when he escaped from their grasp and fled. They endeavored to
overtake him, but were encumbered with armor; he was lightly clad,
and he fled for his life. One of the Gomeres paused, and, levelling
his crossbow, let fly a bolt which pierced the fugitive between the
shoulders; he fell and was nearly within their grasp, but rose again
and with a desperate effort attained the Christian camp. The Gomeres
gave over the pursuit, and the citizens returned thanks to Allah for
their deliverance from this fearful peril. As to the faithful messenger,
he died of his wound shortly after reaching the camp, consoled with
the idea that he had preserved the secret and the lives of his employers.

Pulgar, Cronica, p. 3, c. 80.

CHAPTER LVIII.

SUFFERINGS OF THE PEOPLE OF MALAGA.

The sufferings of Malaga spread sorrow and anxiety among the

Moors, and they dreaded lest this beautiful city, once the bulwark
of the kingdom, should fall into the hands of the unbelievers. The
old warrior-king, Abdallah el Zagal, was still sheltered in Guadix,
where he was slowly gathering together his shattered forces. When
the people of Guadix heard of the danger and distress of Malaga,
they urged to be led to its relief, and the alfaquis admonished El
Zagal not to desert so righteous and loyal a city in its extremity.
His own warlike nature made him feel a sympathy for a place that
made so gallant a resistance, and he despatched as powerful a
reinforcement as he could spare under conduct of a chosen captain,
with orders to throw themselves into the city.

Intelligence of this reinforcement reached Boabdil el Chico in his

royal palace of the Alhambra. Filled with hostility against his
uncle, and desirous of proving his loyalty to the Castilian sovereigns,
he immediately sent forth a superior force of horse and foot under
an able commander to intercept the detachment. A sharp conflict
ensued; the troops of El Zagal were routed with great loss and
fled back in confusion to Guadix.

Boabdil, not being accustomed to victories, was flushed with

this melancholy triumph. He sent tidings of it to the Castilian
sovereigns, accompanied with rich silks, boxes of Arabian perfume,
a cup of gold richly wrought, and a female captive of Ubeda as
presents to the queen, and four Arabian steeds magnificently

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caparisoned, a sword and dagger richly mounted, and several
albornozes and other robes sumptuously embroidered for the
king. He entreated them at the same time always to look upon
him with favor as their devoted vassal.

Boabdil was fated to be unfortunate, even in his victories. His

defeat of the forces of his uncle destined to the relief of unhappy
Malaga shocked the feelings and cooled the loyalty of many of his
best adherents. The mere men of traffic might rejoice in their
golden interval of peace, but the chivalrous spirits of Granada
spurned a security purchased by such sacrifices of pride and
affection. The people at large, having gratified their love of
change, began to question whether they had acted generously
by their old fighting monarch. ”El Zagal,” said they, ”was fierce
and bloody, but then he was faithful to his country; he was an
usurper, it is true, but then he maintained the glory of the crown
which he usurped. If his sceptre was a rod of iron to his subjects,
it was a sword of steel against their enemies. This Boabdil sacrifices
religion, friends, country, everything, to a mere shadow of royalty,
and is content to hold a rush for a sceptre.”

These factious murmurs soon reached the ears of Boabdil, and he

apprehended another of his customary reverses. He sent in all haste
to the Castilian sovereigns beseeching military aid to keep him on
his throne. Ferdinand graciously complied with a request so much in
unison with his policy. A detachment of one thousand cavalry and two
thousand infantry was sent under the command of Don Fernandez
Gonsalvo of Cordova, subsequently renowned as the grand captain.
With this succor Boabdil expelled from the city all those who were
hostile to him and in favor of his uncle. He felt secure in these
troops, from their being distinct in manners, language, and religion
from his subjects, and compromised with his pride in thus exhibiting
that most unnatural and humiliating of all regal spectacles, a
monarch supported on his throne by foreign weapons and by soldiers
hostile to his people. Nor was Boabdil el Chico the only Moorish
sovereign that sought protection from Ferdinand and Isabella. A
splendid galley with latine sails and several banks of oars, displaying
the standard of the Crescent, but likewise a white flag in sign of
amity, came one day into the harbor. An ambassador landed from
it within the Christian lines. He came from the king of Tremezan, and
brought presents similar to those of Boabdil, consisting of Arabian
coursers, with bits, stirrups, and other furniture of gold, together
with costly Moorish mantles: for the queen there were sumptuous
shawls, robes, and silken stuffs, ornaments of gold, and exquisite
Oriental perfumes.

The king of Tremezan had been alarmed at the rapid conquests of

the Spanish arms, and startled by the descent of several Spanish
cruisers on the coast of Africa. He craved to be considered a vassal
to the Castilian sovereigns, and that they would extend such favor

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and security to his ships and subjects as had been shown to other
Moors who had submitted to their sway. He requested a painting
of their arms, that he and his subjects might recognize and respect
their standard whenever they encountered it. At the same time he
implored their clemency toward unhappy Malaga, and that its
inhabitants might experience the same favor that had been shown
toward the Moors of other captured cities.

The embassy was graciously received by the Christian sovereigns.

They granted the protection required, ordering their commanders
to respect the flag of Tremezan unless it should be found rendering
assistance to the enemy. They sent also to the Barbary monarch their
royal arms moulded in escutcheons of gold, a hand’s-breadth in size.

Cura de los Palacios, c. 84; Pulgar, part 3, c. 68.

While thus the chances of assistance from without daily decreased,

famine raged in the city. The inhabitants were compelled to eat the
flesh of horses, and many died of hunger. What made the sufferings
of the citizens the more intolerable was to behold the sea covered
with ships daily arriving with provisions for the besiegers. Day after
day also they saw herds of fat cattle and flocks of sheep driven into
the camp. Wheat and flour were piled in huge mounds in the centre
of the encampments, glaring in the sunshine, and tantalizing the
wretched citizens, who, while they and their children were perishing
with hunger, beheld prodigal abundance reigning within a bow-shot
of their walls.

CHAPTER LIX.

HOW A MOORISH SANTON UNDERTOOK TO DELIVER THE CITY OF

MALAGA FROM THE POWER OF ITS ENEMIES.

There lived at this time in a hamlet in the neighborhood of Guadix

an ancient Moor of the name of Ibrahim el Guerbi. He was a native
of the island of Guerbes, in the kingdom of Tunis, and had for several
years led the life of a santon or hermit. The hot sun of Africa had
dried his blood, and rendered him of an exalted yet melancholy
temperament. He passed most of his time in caves of the mountains
in meditation, prayer, and rigorous abstinence, until his body was
wasted and his mind bewildered, and he fancied himself favored with
divine revelations and visited by angels sent by Mahomet. The Moors,
who had a great reverence for all enthusiasts of the kind, believed in
his being inspired, listened to all his ravings as veritable prophecies,
and denominated him ”el santo,” or the saint.

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 The woes of the kingdom of Granada had long exasperated the gloomy
spirit of this man, and he had beheld with indignation this beautiful
country wrested from the dominion of the faithful and becoming a
prey to the unbelievers. He had implored the blessings of Allah on
the troops which issued forth from Guadix for the relief of Malaga, but
when he saw them return routed and scattered by their own countrymen,
he retired to his cell, shut himself up from the world, and was plunged
for a time in the blackest melancholy.

On a sudden he made his appearance again in the streets of Guadix,

his face haggard, his form emaciated, but his eyes beaming with
fire. He said that Allah had sent an angel to him in the solitude of
his cell, revealing to him a mode of delivering Malaga from its perils
and striking horror and confusion into the camp of the unbelievers.
The Moors listened with eager credulity to his words: four hundred
of them offered to follow him even to the death and to obey implicitly
his commands. Of this number many were Gomeres, anxious to relieve
their countrymen who formed part of the garrison of Malaga.

They traversed the kingdom by the wild and lonely passes of the
mountains, concealing themselves in the day and travelling only in
the night to elude the Christian scouts. At length they arrived at
the mountains which tower above Malaga, and, looking down, beheld
the city completely invested, a chain of encampments extending
round it from shore to shore and a line of ships blockading it by sea,
while the continual thunder of artillery and the smoke rising in
various parts showed that the siege was pressed with great activity.
The hermit scanned the encampments warily from his lofty height. He
saw that the part of the encampment of the marques of Cadiz which
was at the foot of the height and on the margin of the sea was most
assailable, the rocky soil not admitting ditches or palisadoes.
Remaining concealed all day, he descended with his followers at
night to the sea-coast and approached silently to the outworks.
He had given them their instructions: they were to rush suddenly
upon the camp, fight their way through, and throw themselves into
the city.

It was just at the gray of the dawning, when objects are obscurely
visible, that they made this desperate attempt. Some sprang suddenly
upon the sentinels, others rushed into the sea and got round the
works, others clambered over the breastworks. There was sharp
skirmishing; a great part of the Moors were cut to pieces, but about
two hundred succeeded in getting into the gates of Malaga.

The santon took no part in the conflict, nor did he endeavor to

enter the city. His plans were of a different nature. Drawing
apart from the battle, he threw himself on his knees on a rising
ground, and, lifting his hands to heaven, appeared to be absorbed
in prayer. The Christians, as they were searching for fugitives in
the clefts of the rocks, found him at his devotions. He stirred not

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at their approach, but remained fixed as a statue, without changing
color or moving a muscle. Filled with surprise, not unmingled with
awe, they took him to the marques of Cadiz. He was wrapped in a
coarse albornoz, or Moorish mantle, his beard was long and grizzled,
and there was something wild and melancholy in his look that
inspired curiosity. On being examined, he gave himself out as a
saint to whom Allah had revealed the events that were to take place
in that siege. The marques demanded when and how Malaga was to
be taken. He replied that he knew full well, but he was forbidden to
reveal those important secrets except to the king and queen. The
good marques was not more given to superstitious fancies than other
commanders of his time, yet there seemed something singular and
mysterious about this man; he might have some important intelligence
to communicate; so he was persuaded to send him to the king and
queen. He was conducted to the royal tent, surrounded by a curious
multitude exclaiming ”El Moro Santo!” for the news had spread through
the camp that they had taken a Moorish prophet.

The king, having dined, was taking his siesta, or afternoon’s sleep,
in his tent, and the queen, though curious to see this singular man,
yet from a natural delicacy and reserve delayed until the king should
be present. He was taken, therefore, to an adjoining tent, in which
were Dona Beatrix de Bovadilla, marchioness of Moya, and Don
Alvaro of Portugal, son of the duke of Braganza, with two or three
attendants. The Moor, ignorant of the Spanish tongue, had not
understood the conversation of the guards, and supposed, from
the magnificence of the furniture and the silken hangings, that this
was the royal tent. From the respect paid by the attendants to Don
Alvaro and the marchioness he concluded that they were the king
and queen.

He now asked for a draught of water: a jar was brought to him, and
the guard released his arm to enable him to drink. The marchioness
perceived a sudden change in his countenance and something sinister
in the expression of his eye, and shifted her position to a more remote
part of the tent. Pretending to raise the water to his lips, the Moor
unfolded his albornoz, so as to grasp a scimetar which he wore
concealed beneath; then, dashing down the jar, he drew his weapon
and gave Don Alvaro a blow on the head that struck him to the earth
and nearly deprived him of life. Turning then upon the marchioness,
he made a violent blow at her; but in his eagerness and agitation his
scimetar caught in the drapery of the tent; the force of the blow was
broken, and the weapon struck harmless upon some golden ornaments
of her head-dress.

Pietro Martyr, Epist. 62.

Ruy Lopez de Toledo, treasurer to the queen, and Juan de Belalcazar,

a sturdy friar, who were present, grappled and struggled with the
desperado, and immediately the guards who had conducted him

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from the marques de Cadiz fell upon him and cut him to pieces.

Cura de los Palacios

The king and queen, brought out of their tents by the noise, were
filled with horror when they learned the imminent peril from which
they had escaped. The mangled body of the Moor was taken by the
people to the camp and thrown into the city from a catapult. The
Gomeres gathered up the body with deep reverence as the remains
of a saint; they washed and perfumed it and buried it with great
honor and loud lamentations. In revenge of his death they slew
one of their principal Christian captives, and, having tied his body
upon an ass, they drove the animal forth into the camp.

From this time there was appointed an additional guard around the
tents of the king and queen, composed of four hundred cavaliers of
rank of the kingdoms of Castile and Aragon. No person was admitted
to the royal presence armed; no Moor was allowed to enter the camp
without a previous knowledge of his character and business; and on
no account was any Moor to be introduced into the presence of the
sovereigns.

An act of treachery of such ferocious nature gave rise to a train of

gloomy apprehensions. There were many cabins and sheds about
the camp constructed of branches of trees which had become dry
and combustible, and fears were entertained that they might be
set on fire by the mudexares, or Moorish vassals, who visited the
army. Some even dreaded that attempts might be made to poison
the wells and fountains. To quiet these dismal alarms all mudexares
were ordered to leave the camp, and all loose, idle loiterers who
could not give a good account of themselves were taken into custody.

CHAPTER LX.

HOW HAMET EL ZEGRI WAS HARDENED IN HIS OBSTINACY BY THE

ARTS OF A MOORISH ASTROLOGER.

Among those followers of the santon that had effected their entrance
into the city was a dark African of the tribe of the Gomeres, who was
likewise a hermit or dervise and passed among the Moors for a holy
and inspired man. No sooner were the mangled remains of his
predecessor buried with the honors of martyrdom than this dervise
elevated himself in his place and professed to be gifted with the
spirit of prophecy. He displayed a white banner, which he assured
the Moors was sacred, that he had retained it for twenty years for
some signal purpose, and that Allah had revealed to him that under

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that banner the inhabitants of Malaga should sally forth upon the
camp of the unbelievers, put it to utter rout, and banquet upon the
provisions in which it abounded. The hungry and credulous Moors
were elated at this prediction, and cried out to be led forth at once
to the attack; but the dervise told them the time was not yet
arrived, for every event had its allotted day in the decrees of fate:
they must wait patiently, therefore, until the appointed time should
be revealed to him by Heaven. Hamet el Zegri listened to the dervise
with profound reverence, and his example had great effect in
increasing the awe and deference of his followers. He took the
holy man up into his stronghold of Gibralfaro, consulted him on all
occasions, and hung out his white banner on the loftiest tower as
a signal of encouragement to the people of the city.

Cura de los Palacios, cap. 84.

In the mean time, the prime chivalry of Spain was gradually assembling
before the walls of Malaga. The army which had commenced the siege
had been worn out by extreme hardships, having had to construct
immense works, to dig trenches and mines, to mount guard by sea
and land, to patrol the mountains, and to sustain incessant conflicts.
The sovereigns were obliged, therefore, to call upon various distant
cities for reinforcements of horse and foot. Many nobles also
assembled their vassals and repaired of their own accord to the
royal camp.

Every little while some stately galley or gallant caravel would stand
into the harbor, displaying the well-known banner of some Spanish
cavalier and thundering from its artillery a salutation to the
sovereigns and a defiance to the Moors. On the land side also
reinforcements would be seen winding down from the mountains
to the sound of drum and trumpet, and marching into the camp
with glistening arms as yet unsullied by the toils of war.

One morning the whole sea was whitened by the sails and vexed by
the oars of ships and galleys bearing toward the port. One hundred
vessels of various kinds and sizes arrived, some armed for warlike
service, others deep freighted with provisions. At the same time the
clangor of drum and trumpet bespoke the arrival of a powerful force
by land, which came pouring in lengthening columns into the camp.
This mighty reinforcement was furnished by the duke of Medina
Sidonia, who reigned like a petty monarch over his vast possessions.
He came with this princely force a volunteer to the royal standard,
not having been summoned by the sovereigns, and he brought,
moreover, a loan of twenty thousand doblas of gold.

When the camp was thus powerfully reinforced Isabella advised that
new offers of an indulgent kind should be made to the inhabitants,
for she was anxious to prevent the miseries of a protracted siege
or the effusion of blood that must attend a general attack. A fresh

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summons was therefore sent for the city to surrender, with a promise
of life, liberty, and property in case of immediate compliance, but
denouncing all the horrors of war if the defence were obstinately
continued.

Hamet again rejected the offer with scorn. His main fortifications
as yet were but little impaired, and were capable of holding out
much longer; he trusted to the thousand evils and accidents that
beset a besieging army and to the inclemencies of the approaching
season; and it is said that he, as well as his followers, had an
infatuated belief in the predictions of the dervise.

The worthy Fray Antonio Agapida does not scruple to affirm that the
pretended prophet of the city was an arch nigromancer, or Moorish
magician, ”of which there be countless many,” says he, ”in the
filthy sect of Mahomet,” and that he was leagued with the prince of
the powers of the air to endeavor to work the confusion and defeat
of the Christian army. The worthy father asserts also that Hamet
employed him in a high tower of the Gibralfaro, which commanded
a wide view over sea and land, where he wrought spells and
incantations with astrolabes and other diabolical instruments to
defeat the Christian ships and forces whenever they were engaged
with the Moors.

To the potent spells of this sorcerer he ascribes the perils and

losses sustained by a party of cavaliers of the royal household in a
desperate combat to gain two towers of the suburb near the gate
of the city called la Puerto de Granada. The Christians, led on by
Ruy Lopez de Toledo, the valiant treasurer of the queen, took and
lost and retook the towers, which were finally set on fire by the
Moors and abandoned to the flames by both parties. To the same
malignant influence he attributes the damage done to the Christian
fleet, which was so vigorously assailed by the albatozas, or floating
batteries, of the Moors that one ship, belonging to the duke of
Medina Sidonia, was sunk and the rest were obliged to retire.

”Hamet el Zegri,” says Fray Antonio Agapida, ”stood on the top

of the high tower of Gibralfaro and beheld this injury wrought upon
the Christian force, and his proud heart was puffed up. And the
Moorish nigromancer stood beside him. And he pointed out to him
the Christian host below, encamped on every eminence around the
city and covering its fertile valley, and the many ships floating upon
the tranquil sea, and he bade him be strong of heart, for that in a
few days all this mighty fleet would be scattered by the winds of
heaven, and that he should sally forth under the guidance of the
sacred banner and attack this host, and utterly defeat it, and make
spoil of those sumptuous tents; and Malaga should be triumphantly
revenged upon her assailants. So the heart of Hamet was hardened
like that of Pharaoh, and he persisted in setting at defiance the
Catholic sovereigns and their army of saintly warriors.”

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CHAPTER LXI.

SIEGE OF MALAGA CONTINUED.–DESTRUCTION OF A TOWER BY

FRANCISCO RAMIREZ DE MADRID.

Seeing the infatuated obstinacy of the besieged, the Christians

now approached their works to the walls, gaining one position after
another preparatory to a general assault. Near the barrier of the
city was a bridge with four arches, defended at each end by a strong
and lofty tower, by which a part of the army would have to pass in
making an attack. The commander-in-chief of the artillery, Francisco
Ramirez de Madrid, was ordered to take possession of this bridge.
The approach to it was perilous in the extreme, from the exposed
situation of the assailants and the number of Moors that garrisoned
the towers. Francisco Ramirez therefore secretly excavated a mine
leading beneath the first tower, and placed a piece of ordnance with
its mouth upward immediately under the foundation, with a train of
powder to produce an explosion at the necessary moment.

When this was arranged he advanced slowly with his forces in face
of the towers, erecting bulwarks at every step, and gradually gaining
ground until he arrived near to the bridge. He then planted several
pieces of artillery in his works and began to batter the tower. The
Moors replied bravely from their battlements, but in the heat of the
combat the piece of ordnance under the foundation was discharged.
The earth was rent open, a part of the tower overthrown, and
several of the Moors were torn to pieces; the rest took to flight,
overwhelmed with terror at this thundering explosion bursting
beneath their feet and at beholding the earth vomiting flames and
smoke, for never before had they witnessed such a stratagem in
warfare. The Christians rushed forward and took possession of the
abandoned post, and immediately commenced an attack upon the
other tower at the opposite end of the bridge, to which the Moors
had retired. An incessant fire of crossbows and arquebuses was kept
up between the rival towers, volleys of stones were discharged, and
no one dared to venture upon the intermediate bridge.

Francisco de Ramirez at length renewed his former mode of approach,

making bulwarks step by step, while the Moors, stationed at the other
end, swept the bridge with their artillery. The combat was long and
bloody–furious on the part of the Moors, patient and persevering on
the part of the Christians. By slow degrees they accomplished their
advance across the bridge, drove the enemy before them, and
remained masters of this important pass.

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 For this valiant and skilful achievement King Ferdinand after the
surrender of the city conferred the dignity of knighthood upon
Francisco Ramirez in the tower which he had so gloriously gained.
The worthy padre Fray Antonio Agapida indulges in more than a
page of extravagant eulogy upon this invention of blowing up the
foundation of the tower by a piece of ordnance; which, in fact, is
said to be the first instance on record of gunpowder being used
in a mine.

Pulgar, part 3, c. 91.

CHAPTER LXII.

HOW THE PEOPLE OF MALAGA EXPOSTULATED WITH HAMET EL

ZEGRI.

While the dervise was deluding the garrison of Malaga with vain hopes
the famine increased to a terrible degree. The Gomeres ranged about
the city as though it had been a conquered place, taking by force
whatever they found eatable in the houses of the peaceful citizens,
and breaking open vaults and cellars and demolishing walls wherever
they thought provisions might be concealed.

The wretched inhabitants had no longer bread to eat; the horse-

flesh also now failed them, and they were fain to devour skins and
hides toasted at the fire, and to assuage the hunger of their children
with vine-leaves cut up and fried in oil. Many perished of famine or
of the unwholesome food with which they endeavored to relieve it,
and many took refuge in the Christian camp, preferring captivity to
the horrors which surrounded them.

At length the sufferings of the inhabitants became so great as to

conquer even their fears of Hamet and his Gomeres. They assembled
before the house of Ali Dordux, the wealthy merchant, whose stately
mansion was at the foot of the hill of the Alcazaba, and they urged
him to stand forth as their leader and to intercede with Hamet for a
surrender. Ali Dordux was a man of courage as well as policy; he
perceived also that hunger was giving boldness to the citizens,
while he trusted it was subduing the fierceness of the soldiery. He
armed himself, therefore, cap-a-pie, and undertook this dangerous
parley with the alcayde. He associated with him an alfaqui named
Abraham Alhariz and an important inhabitant named Amar ben Amar,
and they ascended to the fortress of Gibralfaro, followed by several
of the trembling merchants.

They found Hamet el Zegri, not, as before, surrounded by ferocious

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guards and all the implements of war, but in a chamber of one of
the lofty towers, at a table of stone covered with scrolls traced with
strange characters and mystic diagrams, while instruments of singular
and unknown form lay about the room. Beside Hamet stood the
prophetic dervise, who appeared to have been explaining to him
the mysterious inscriptions of the scrolls. His presence filled the
citizens with awe, for even Ali Dordux considered him a man inspired.

The alfaqui, Abraham Alhariz, whose sacred character gave him

boldness to speak, now lifted up his voice and addressed Hamet el
Zegri. ”We implore thee,” said he, solemnly, ”in the name of the
most powerful God, no longer to persist in a vain resistance which
must end in our destruction, but deliver up the city while clemency
is yet to be obtained. Think how many of our warriors have fallen by

the sword; do not suffer those who survive to perish by famine. Our
wives and children cry to us for bread, and we have none to give
them. We see them expire in lingering agony before our eyes, while
the enemy mocks our misery by displaying the abundance of his camp.
Of what avail is our defence? Are our walls, peradventure, more
strong than the walls of Ronda? Are our warriors more brave than the
defenders of Loxa? The walls of Ronda were thrown down and the
warriors of Loxa had to surrender. Do we hope for succor?–whence
are we to receive it? The time for hope is gone by. Granada has lost
its power; it no longer possesses chivalry, commanders, nor a king.
Boabdil sits a vassal in the degraded halls of the Alhambra; El
Zagal is a fugitive, shut up within the walls of Guadix. The kingdom
is divided against itself–its strength is gone, its pride fallen, its very
existence at an end. In the name of Allah we conjure thee, who art
our captain, be not our direst enemy, but surrender these ruins of
our once-happy Malaga and deliver us from these overwhelming
horrors.”

Such was the supplication forced from the inhabitants by the

extremity of their sufferings. Hamet listened to the alfaqui without
anger, for he respected the sanctity of his office. His heart too
was at that moment lifted up with a vain confidence. ”Yet a few
days of patience,” said he, ”and all these evils will suddenly have
an end. I have been conferring with this holy man, and find that
the time of our deliverance is at hand. The decrees of fate are
inevitable; it is written in the book of destiny that we shall sally
forth and destroy the camp of the unbelievers, and banquet upon
those mountains of grain which are piled up in the midst of it. So
Allah hath promised by the mouth of this his prophet. Allah Akbar!
God is great! Let no man oppose the decrees of Heaven!”

The citizens bowed with profound reverence, for no true Moslem

pretends to struggle against whatever is written in the book of
fate. Ali Dordux, who had come prepared to champion the city and
to brave the ire of Hamet, humbled himself before this holy man

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and gave faith to his prophecies as the revelations of Allah. So the
deputies returned to the citizens, and exhorted them to be of good
cheer. ”A few days longer,” said they, ”and our sufferings are to
terminate. When the white banner is removed from the tower, then
look out for deliverance, for the hour of sallying forth will have
arrived.” The people retired to their homes with sorrowful hearts;
they tried in vain to quiet the cries of their famishing children, and
day by day and hour by hour their anxious eyes were turned to
the sacred banner, which still continued to wave on the tower of
Gibralfaro.

CHAPTER LXIII.

HOW HAMET EL ZEGRI SALLIED FORTH WITH THE SACRED BANNER

TO
ATTACK THE CHRISTIAN CAMP.

”The Moorish nigromancer,” observes the worthy Fray Antonio Agapida,

”remained shut up in a tower of the Gibralfaro devising devilish means
to work mischief and discomfiture upon the Christians. He was daily
consulted by Hamet, who had great faith in those black and magic arts
which he had brought with him from the bosom of heathen Africa.”

From the account given of this dervise and his incantations by the
worthy father it would appear that he was an astrologer, and was
studying the stars and endeavoring to calculate the day and hour
when a successful attack might be made upon the Christian camp.

Famine had now increased to such a degree as to distress even the

garrison of Gibralfaro, although the Gomeres had seized upon all the
provisions they could find in the city. Their passions were sharpened
by hunger, and they became restless and turbulent and impatient
for action.

Hamet was one day in council with his captains, perplexed by the
pressure of events, when the dervise entered among them. ”The
hour of victory,” exclaimed he, ”is at hand. Allah has commanded
that to-morrow morning ye shall sally forth to the fight. I will bear
before you the sacred banner and deliver your enemies into your
hands. Remember, however, that ye are but instruments in the
hands of Allah to take vengeance on the enemies of the faith. Go
into battle, therefore, with pure hearts, forgiving each other all
past offences, for those who are charitable toward each other
will be victorious over the foe.” The words of the dervise were
received with rapture; all Gibralfaro and the Alcazaba resounded
immediately with the din of arms, and Hamet sent throughout the

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towers and fortifications of the city and selected the choicest
troops and most distinguished captains for this eventful combat.

In the morning early the rumor went throughout the city that the
sacred banner had disappeared from the tower of Gibralfaro, and
all Malaga was roused to witness the sally that was to destroy the
unbelievers. Hamet descended from his stronghold, accompanied
by his principal captain, Ibrahim Zenete, and followed by his Gomeres.
The dervise led the way, displaying the white banner, the sacred
pledge of victory. The multitude shouted ”Allah Akbar!” and prostrated
themselves before the banner as it passed. Even the dreaded Hamet
was hailed with praises, for in their hopes of speedy relief through
the prowess of his arm the populace forgot everything but his bravery.
Every bosom in Malaga was agitated by hope and fear: the old men,
the women, and children, and all who went not forth to battle mounted
on tower and battlement and roof to watch a combat that was to
decide their fate.

Before sallying forth from the city the dervise addressed the troops,
reminding them of the holy nature of this enterprise, and warning
them not to forfeit the protection of the sacred banner by any
unworthy act. They were not to pause to make spoil nor to take
prisoners: they were to press forward, fighting valiantly, and granting
no quarter. The gate was then thrown open, and the dervise issued
forth, followed by the army. They directed their assaults upon the
encampments of the master of Santiago and the master of Alcantara,
and came upon them so suddenly that they killed and wounded
several of the guards. Ibrahim Zenete made his way into one of the
tents, where he beheld several Christian striplings just starting from
their slumber. The heart of the Moor was suddenly touched with pity
for their youth, or perhaps he scorned the weakness of the foe.

He smote them with the flat instead of the edge of the sword. ”Away,
imps!” cried he, ”away to your mothers!” The fanatic dervise reproached
him with his clemency. ”I did not kill them,” replied Zenete, ”because I
saw no beards!”

Cura de los Palacios, c. 84.

The alarm was given in the camp, and the Christians rushed from
all quarters to defend the gates of the bulwarks. Don Pedro Puerto
Carrero, senior of Moguer, and his brother, Don Alonzo Pacheco,
planted themselves with their followers in the gateway of the
encampment of the master of Santiago, and bore the whole brunt of
battle until they were reinforced. The gate of the encampment of the
master of Calatrava was in like manner defended by Lorenzo Saurez
de Mendoza. Hamet was furious at being thus checked where he
had expected a miraculous victory. He led his troops repeatedly to
the attack, hoping to force the gates before succor should arrive: they
fought with vehement ardor, but were as often repulsed, and every

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time they returned to the assault they found their enemies doubled
in number. The Christians opened a cross-fire of all kinds of missiles
from their bulwarks; the Moors could effect but little damage upon a
foe thus protected behind their works, while they themselves were
exposed from head to foot. The Christians singled out the most
conspicuous cavaliers, the greater part of whom were either slain
or wounded. Still, the Moors, infatuated by the predictions of the
prophet, fought desperately and devotedly, and they were furious
to revenge the slaughter of their leaders. They rushed upon certain
death, endeavoring madly to scale the bulwarks or force the gates,
and fell amidst showers of darts and lances, filling the ditches with
their mangled bodies.

Hamet el Zegri raged along the front of the bulwarks seeking an

opening for attack. He gnashed his teeth with fury as he saw so
many of his chosen warriors slain around him. He seemed to have
a charmed life, for, though constantly in the hottest of the fight
amidst showers of missiles, he still escaped uninjured. Blindly
confiding in the prophecy of victory, he continued to urge on his
devoted troops. The dervise too ran like a maniac through the ranks,
waving his white banner and inciting the Moors by howlings rather
than by shouts. ”Fear not! the victory is ours, for so it is written!”
cried he. In the midst of his frenzy a stone from a catapult struck
him in the head and dashed out his bewildered brains.

Garibay, lib. 18, c. 33.

When the Moors beheld their prophet slain and his banner in the
dust, they were seized with despair and fled in confusion to the
city. Hamet el Zegri made some effort to rally them, but was himself
confounded by the fall of the dervise. He covered the flight of his
broken forces, turning repeatedly upon their pursuers and slowly
making his retreat into the city.

The inhabitants of Malaga witnessed from their walls with trembling

anxiety the whole of this disastrous conflict. At the first onset,
when they beheld the guards of the camp put to flight, they
exclaimed, ”Allah has given us the victory!” and they sent up shouts
of triumph. Their exultation, however, was soon turned into doubt
when they beheld their troops repulsed in repeated attacks. They
could see from time to time some distinguished warrior laid low and
others brought back bleeding to the city. When at length the sacred
banner fell and the routed troops came flying to the gates, pursued
and cut down by the foe, horror and despair seized upon the populace.

As Hamet entered the gates he heard nothing but loud lamentations:

mothers whose sons had been slain shrieked curses after him as he
passed; some in the anguish of their hearts threw down their
famishing babes before him, exclaiming, ”Trample on them with thy
horse’s feet, for we have no food to give them, and we cannot endure

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their cries.” All heaped execrations on his head as the cause of the
woes of Malaga.

The warlike part of the citizens also, and many warriors who with
their wives and children had taken refuge in Malaga from the
mountain-fortresses, now joined in the popular clamor, for their
hearts were overcome by the sufferings of their families.

Hamet el Zegri found it impossible to withstand this torrent of

lamentations, curses, and reproaches. His military ascendancy was
at an end, for most of his officers and the prime warriors of his
African band had fallen in this disastrous sally. Turning his back,
therefore, upon the city and abandoning it to its own counsels, he
retired with the remnant of his Gomeres to his stronghold in the
Gibralfaro.

CHAPTER LXIV.

HOW THE CITY OF MALAGA CAPITULATED.

The people of Malaga, being no longer overawed by Hamet el Zegri

and his Gomeres, turned to Ali Dordux, the magnanimous merchant,
and put the fate of the city into his hands. He had already gained
the alcaydes of the castle of the Genoese and of the citadel into his
party, and in the late confusion had gained the sway over those
important fortresses. He now associated himself with the alfaqui
Abraham Alhariz and four of the principal inhabitants, and, forming
a provisional junta, they sent heralds to the Christian sovereigns
offering to surrender the city on certain terms protecting the
persons and property of the inhabitants, permitting them to reside
as mudexares or tributary vassals either in Malaga or elsewhere.

When the herald arrived at the camp and made known their mission
to King Ferdinand, his anger was kindled. ”Return to your fellow-
citizens,” said he, ”and tell them that the day of grace is gone by.
They have persisted in a fruitless defence until they are driven by
necessity to capitulate; they must surrender unconditionally and
abide the fate of the vanquished. Those who merit death shall
suffer death; those who merit captivity shall be made captives.”

This stern reply spread consternation among the people of Malaga,

but Ali Dordux comforted them, and undertook to go in person and
pray for favorable terms. When the people beheld this great and
wealthy merchant, who was so eminent in their city, departing
with his associates on this mission, they plucked up heart, for they
said, ”Surely the Christian king will not turn a deaf ear to such a

210
man as Ali Dordux.”

Ferdinand, however, would not even admit the ambassadors to

his presence. ”Send them to the devil!” said he in a great passion
to the commander of Leon; ”I’ll not see them. Let them get back
to their city. They shall all surrender to my mercy as vanquished
enemies.”

Cura de los Palacios, cap. 84.

To give emphasis to this reply he ordered a general discharge

from all the artillery and batteries, and there was a great shout
throughout the camp, and all the lombards and catapults and
other engines of war thundered furiously upon the city, doing
great damage.

Ali Dordux and his companions returned to the city with downcast
countenances, and could scarce make the reply of the Christian
sovereign be heard for the roaring of the artillery, the tumbling
of the walls, and the cries of women and children. The citizens
were greatly astonished and dismayed when they found the little
respect paid to their most eminent man; but the warriors who were
in the city exclaimed, ”What has this merchant to do with questions
between men of battle? Let us not address the enemy as abject
suppliants who have no power to injure, but as valiant men who
have weapons in their hands.”

So they despatched another message to the Christian sovereigns,

offering to yield up the city and all their effects on condition of
being secured in their personal liberty. Should this be denied, they
declared they would hang from the battlements fifteen hundred
Christian captives, male and female–that they would put all their
old men, their women, and children into the citadel, set fire to the
city, and sally forth, sword in hand, to fight until the last gasp. ”In
this way,” said they, ”the Spanish sovereigns shall gain a bloody
victory, and the fall of Malaga be renowned while the world endures.”

To this fierce and swelling message Ferdinand replied that if a

single Christian captive were injured, not a Moor in Malaga but
should be put to the edge of the sword.

A great conflict of counsels now arose in Malaga. The warriors were

for following up their menace by some desperate act of vengeance or
of self-devotion. Those who had families looked with anguish upon
their wives and daughters, and thought it better to die than live to
see them captives. By degrees, however, the transports of passion
and despair subsided, the love of life resumed its sway, and they
turned once more to Ali Dordux as the man most prudent in council
and able in negotiation. By his advice fourteen of the principal
inhabitants were chosen from the fourteen districts of the city, and

211
sent to the camp bearing a long letter couched in terms of the most
humble supplication.

Various debates now took place in the Christian camp. Many of the
cavaliers were exasperated against Malaga for its long resistance,
which had caused the death of many of their relatives and favorite
companions. It had long been a stronghold also for Moorish
depredators and the mart where most of the warriors captured in
the Axarquia had been exposed in triumph and sold to slavery. They
represented, moreover, that there were many Moorish cities yet to be
besieged, and that an example ought to be made of Malaga to prevent
all obstinate resistance thereafter. They advised, therefore, that all
the inhabitants should be put to the sword.

Pulgar.

The humane heart of Isabella revolted at such sanguinary counsels:

she insisted that their triumph should not be disgraced by cruelty.
Ferdinand, however, was inflexible in refusing to grant any
preliminary terms, insisting on an unconditional surrender.

The people of Malaga now abandoned themselves to paroxysms of

despair; on one side they saw famine and death, on the other slavery
and chains. The mere men of the sword, who had no families to
protect, were loud for signalizing their fall by some illustrious action.
”Let us sacrifice our Christian captives, and then destroy ourselves,”
cried some. ”Let us put all the women and children to death, set fire
to the city, fall on the Christian camp, and die sword in hand,” cried
others.

Ali Dordux gradually made his voice be heard amidst the general
clamor. He addressed himself to the principal inhabitants and to
those who had children. ”Let those who live by the sword die by
the sword,” cried he, ”but let us not follow their desperate counsels.
Who knows what sparks of pity may be awakened in the bosoms
of the Christian sovereigns when they behold our unoffending wives
and daughters and our helpless little ones? The Christian queen,
they say, is full of mercy.”

At these words the hearts of the unhappy people of Malaga yearned

over their families, and they empowered Ali Dordux to deliver up their
city to the mercy of the Castilian sovereigns.

The merchant now went to and fro, and had several communications
with Ferdinand and Isabella, and interested several principal
cavaliers in his cause; and he sent rich presents to the king and
queen of Oriental merchandise and silks and stuffs of gold and
jewels and precious stones and spices and perfumes, and many other
sumptuous things, which he had accumulated in his great tradings
with the East; and he gradually found favor in the eyes of the

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sovereigns. Finding that there was nothing to be obtained for
the city, he now, like a prudent man and able merchant, began to
negotiate for himself and his immediate friends. He represented
that from the first they had been desirous of yielding up the city,
but had been prevented by warlike and high-handed men, who had
threatened their lives; he entreated, therefore, that mercy might
be extended to them, and that they might not be confounded with
the guilty.

MS. Chron. of Valera.

The sovereigns had accepted the presents of Ali Dordux–how

could they then turn a deaf ear to his petition? So they granted a
pardon to him and to forty families which he named, and it was
agreed that they should be protected in their liberties and property,
and permitted to reside in Malaga as mudexares or Moslem vassals,
and to follow their customary pursuits. All this being arranged, Ali
Dordux delivered up twenty of the principal inhabitants to remain as
hostages until the whole city should be placed in the possession of
the Christians.

Cura de los Palacios, cap. 84.

Don Gutierrez de Cardenas, senior commander of Leon, now entered

the city armed cap-a-pie, on horseback, and took possession in the
name of the Castilian sovereigns. He was followed by his retainers
and by the captains and cavaliers of the army, and in a little while
the standards of the cross and of the blessed Santiago and of the
Catholic sovereigns were elevated on the principal tower of the
Alcazaba. When these standards were beheld from the camp, the
queen and the princess and the ladies of the court and all the royal
retinue knelt down and gave thanks and praises to the Holy Virgin
and to Santiago for this great triumph of the faith; and the bishops
and other clergy who were present and the choristers of the royal
chapel chanted ”Te Deum Laudamus” and ”Gloria in Excelsis.”

CHAPTER LXV.

FULFILMENT OF THE PROPHECY OF THE DERVISE.–FATE OF HAMET

EL ZEGRI.

No sooner was the city delivered up than the wretched inhabitants

implored permission to purchase bread for themselves and their
children from the heaps of grain which they had so often gazed
at wistfully from their walls. Their prayer was granted, and they
issued forth with the famished eagerness of starving men. It was

213
piteous to behold the struggles of those unhappy people as they
contended who first should have their necessities relieved.

”Thus,” says the pious Fray Antonio Agapida,–”thus are the

predictions of false prophets sometimes permitted to be verified,
but always to the confusion of those who trust in them; for the
words of the Moorish nigromancer came to pass that the people
of Malaga should eat of those heaps of bread, but they ate in
humiliation and defeat and with sorrow and bitterness of heart.”

Dark and fierce were the feelings of Hamet el Zegri as he looked

down from the castle of Gibralfaro and beheld the Christian legions
pouring into the city and the standard of the cross supplanting the
crescent on the citadel. ”The people of Malaga,” said he, ”have
trusted to a man of trade, and he has trafficked them away; but let
us not suffer ourselves to be bound hand and foot and delivered up
as part of his bargain. We have yet strong walls around us and
trusty weapons in our hands. Let us fight until buried beneath the
last tumbling tower of Gibralfaro, or, rushing down from among its
ruins, carry havoc among the unbelievers as they throng the streets
of Malaga.”

The fierceness of the Gomeres, however, was broken. They could

have died in the breach had their castle been assailed, but the slow
advances of famine subdued their strength without rousing their
passions, and sapped the force of both soul and body. They were
almost unanimous for a surrender.

It was a hard struggle for the proud spirit of Hamet to bow itself
to ask for terms. Still, he trusted that the valor of his defence
would gain him respect in the eyes of a chivalrous foe. ”Ali,”
said he, ”has negotiated like a merchant; I will capitulate as a
soldier.” He sent a herald, therefore, to Ferdinand, offering to
yield up his castle, but demanding a separate treaty.[15] The
Castilian sovereign made a laconic and stern reply: ”He shall
receive no terms but such as have been granted to the community
of Malaga.”

For two days Hamet el Zegri remained brooding in his castle after
the city was in possession of the Christians; at length the clamors
of his followers compelled him to surrender. When the remnant of
this fierce African garrison descended from their cragged fortress,
they were so worn by watchfulness, famine, and battle, yet carried
such a lurking fury in their eyes, that they looked more like fiends
than men. They were all condemned to slavery, excepting Ibrahim
Zenete. The instance of clemency which he had shown in refraining
to harm the Spanish striplings on the last sally from Malaga won him
favorable terms. It was cited as a magnanimous act by the Spanish
cavaliers, and all admitted that, though a Moor in blood, he
possessed the Christian heart of a Castilian hidalgo.

214
 Cura de los Palacios, cap. 84.

As to Hamet el Zegri, on being asked what moved him to such hardened

obstinacy, he replied, ”When I undertook my command, I pledged
myself to fight in defence of my faith, my city, and my sovereign
until slain or made prisoner; and, depend upon it, had I had men
to stand by me, I should have died fighting, instead of thus tamely
surrendering myself without a weapon in my hand.”

”Such,” says the pious Fray Antonio Agapida, ”was the diabolical
hatred and stiff-necked opposition of this infidel to our holy cause.
But he was justly served by our most Catholic and high-minded
sovereign for his pertinacious defence of the city, for Ferdinand
ordered that he should be loaded with chains and thrown into a
dungeon.” He was subsequently retained in rigorous confinement
at Carmona.

Pulgar, part 3, cap. 93; Pietro Martyr, lib. 1, cap. 69; Alcantara,
Hist. Granada, vol. 4, c. 18.

CHAPTER LXVI.

HOW THE CASTILIAN SOVEREIGNS TOOK POSSESION OF THE CITY

OF
MALAGA, AND HOW KING FERDINAND SIGNALIZED HIMSELF BY HIS
SKILL IN BARGAINING WITH THE INHABITANTS FOR THEIR RAN-
SOM.

One of the first cares of the conquerors on entering Malaga was to

search for Christian captives. Nearly sixteen hundred men and women
were found, and among them were persons of distinction. Some of them
had been ten, fifteen, and twenty years in captivity. Many had been
servants to the Moors or laborers on public works, and some had
passed their time in chains and dungeons. Preparations were made
to celebrate their deliverance as a Christian triumph. A tent was
erected not far from the city, and furnished with an altar and all
the solemn decorations of a chapel. Here the king and queen waited
to receive the Christian captives. They were assembled in the city
and marshalled forth in piteous procession. Many of them had still
the chains and shackles on their legs; they were wasted with famine,
their hair and beards overgrown and matted, and their faces pale and
haggard from long confinement. When they found themselves restored
to liberty and surrounded by their countrymen, some stared wildly
about as if in a dream, others gave way to frantic transports, but
most of them wept for joy. All present were moved to tears by so

215
touching a spectacle. When the procession arrived at what is called
the Gate of Granada, it was met by a great concourse from the camp
with crosses and pennons, who turned and followed the captives,
singing hymns of praise and thanksgiving. When they came in presence
of the king and queen, they threw themselves on their knees, and
would have kissed their feet as their saviors and deliverers, but the
sovereigns prevented such humiliation and graciously extended to
them their hands. They then prostrated themselves before the altar,
and all present joined them in giving thanks to God for their liberation
from this cruel bondage. By orders of the king and queen their chains
were then taken off, and they were clad in decent raiment and food
was set before them. After they had ate and drunk, and were
refreshed and invigorated, they were provided with money and all
things necessary for their journey, and sent joyfully to their homes.

While the old chroniclers dwell with becoming enthusiasm on this

pure and affecting triumph of humanity, they go on in a strain of
equal eulogy to describe a spectacle of a far different nature. It
so happened that there were found in the city twelve of those
renegado Christians who had deserted to the Moors and conveyed
false intelligence during the siege: a barbarous species of punishment
was inflicted upon them, borrowed, it is said, from the Moors and
peculiar to these wars. They were tied to stakes in a public place,
and horsemen exercised their skill in transpiercing them with
pointed reeds, hurled at them while careering at full speed, until
the miserable victims expired beneath their wounds. Several
apostate Moors also, who, having embraced Christianity, had
afterward relapsed into their early faith, and had taken refuge in
Malaga from the vengeance of the Inquisition, were publicly burnt.
”These,” says an old Jesuit historian exultingly,–”these were the
tilts of reeds and the illuminations most pleasing for this victorious
festival and for the Catholic piety of our sovereigns.”

”Los renegados fuernon acanavareados: y los conversos quemados;

y estos fueron las canas, y luminarias mas alegres, por la fiesta
de la vitoria, para la piedad Catholica de nuestros Reyes.”–Abarca,
”Anales de Aragon,” tom. 2, Rey xxx. c. 3.

When the city was cleansed from the impurities and offensive
odors which had collected during the siege, the bishops and other
clergy who accompanied the court, and the choir of the royal chapel,
walked in procession to the principal mosque, which was consecrated
and entitled Santa Maria de la Incarnacion. This done, the king and
queen entered the city, accompanied by the grand cardinal of Spain
and the principal nobles and cavaliers of the army, and heard a
solemn mass. The church was then elevated into a cathedral, and
Malaga was made a bishopric, and many of the neighboring towns were
comprehended in its diocese. The queen took up her residence in the
Alcazaba, in the apartments of her valiant treasurer, Ruy Lopez,
whence she had a view of the whole city, but the king established

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his quarters in the warrior castle of Gibralfaro.

And now came to be considered the disposition of the Moorish

prisoners. All those who were strangers in the city, and had either
taken refuge there or had entered to defend it, were at once
considered slaves. They were divided into three lots: one was set
apart for the service of God in redeeming Christian captives from
bondage, either in the kingdom of Granada or in Africa; the second
lot was divided among those who had aided either in field or cabinet
in the present siege, according to their rank; the third was
appropriated to defray by their sale the great expenses incurred in
the reduction of the place. A hundred of the Gomeres were sent as
presents to Pope Innocent VIII., and were led in triumph through the
streets of Rome, and afterward converted to Christianity. Fifty
Moorish maidens were sent to the queen Joanna of Naples, sister to
King Ferdinand, and thirty to the queen of Portugal. Isabella made
presents of others to the ladies of her household and of the noble
families of Spain.

Among the inhabitants of Malaga were four hundred and fifty Moorish
Jews, for the most part women, speaking the Arabic language and
dressed in the Moresco fashion. These were ransomed by a
wealthy Jew of Castile, farmer-general of the royal revenues derived
from the Jews of Spain. He agreed to make up within a certain time
the sum of twenty thousand doblas, or pistoles of gold, all the money
and jewels of the captives being taken in part payment. They were
sent to Castile in two armed galleys. As to Ali Dordux, such favors
and honors were heaped upon him by the Spanish sovereigns for
his considerate mediation in the surrender that the disinterestedness
of his conduct has often been called in question. He was appointed
chief justice and alcayde of the[10]mudexares or Moorish subjects,
and was presented with twenty houses, one public bakery, and
several orchards, vineyards, and tracts of open country. He retired to
Antiquera, where he died several years afterward, leaving his estate
and name to his son, Mohamed Dordux. The latter embraced the
Christian faith, as did his wife, the daughter of a Moorish noble. On
being baptized he received the name of Don Fernando de Malaga,
his wife that of Isabella, after the queen. They were incorporated
with the nobility of Castile, and their descendants still bear the
name of Malaga.

Conversaciones Malaguenas, 26, as cited by Alcantara in his

History of Granada, vol. 4, c. 18.

As to the great mass of Moorish inhabitants, they implored that

they might not be scattered and sold into captivity, but might be
permitted to ransom themselves by an amount paid within a certain
time. Upon this King Ferdinand took the advice of certain of his
ablest counsellors. They said to him: ”If you hold out a prospect
of hopeless captivity, the infidels will throw all their gold and

217
jewels into wells and pits, and you will lose the greater part of
the spoil; but if you fix a general rate of ransom, and receive
their money and jewels in part payment, nothing will be destroyed.”
The king relished greatly this advice, and it was arranged that all
the inhabitants should be ransomed at the general rate of thirty
doblas or pistoles in gold for each individual, male or female,
large or small; that all their gold, jewels, and other valuables
should be received immediately in part payment of the general
amount, and that the residue should be paid within eight months–
that if any of the number, actually living, should die in the interim,
their ransom should nevertheless be paid. If, however, the whole
of the amount were not paid at the expiration of the eight months,
they should all be considered and treated as slaves.

The unfortunate Moors were eager to catch at the least hope of

future liberty, and consented to these hard conditions. The most
rigorous precautions were taken to exact them to the uttermost. The
inhabitants were numbered by houses and families, and their names
taken down; their most precious effects were made up into parcels,
and sealed and inscribed with their names, and they were ordered to
repair with them to certain large corrales or enclosures adjoining
the Alcazaba, which were surrounded by high walls and overlooked by
watch-towers, to which places the cavalgadas of Christian captives
had usually been driven to be confined until the time of sale like
cattle in a market. The Moors were obliged to leave their houses one
by one: all their money, necklaces, bracelets, and anklets of gold,
pearl, coral, and precious stones were taken from them at the
threshold, and their persons so rigorously searched that they
carried off nothing concealed.

Then might be seen old men and helpless women and tender maidens,
some of high birth and gentle condition, passing through the
streets, heavily burdened, toward the Alcazaba. As they left their
homes they smote their breasts and wrung their hands, and raised
their weeping eyes to heaven in anguish; and this is recorded as
their plaint: ”O Malaga! city so renowned and beautiful! where now
is the strength of thy castle, where the grandeur of thy towers? Of
what avail have been thy mighty walls for the protection of thy
children? Behold them driven from thy pleasant abodes, doomed
to drag out a life of bondage in a foreign land, and to die far from
the home of their infancy! What will become of thy old men and
matrons when their gray hairs shall be no longer reverenced? What
will become of thy maidens, so delicately reared and tenderly
cherished, when reduced to hard and menial servitude? Behold
thy once happy families scattered asunder, never again to be
united–sons separated from their fathers, husbands from their
wives, and tender children from their mothers: they will bewail each
other in foreign lands, but their lamentations will be the scoff of
the stranger. O Malaga! city of our birth! who can behold thy
desolation and not shed tears of bitterness?”

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 Pulgar, Reyes Catolicos, c. 93.

When Malaga was completely secured a detachment was sent against

two fortresses near the sea, called Mixas and Osuna, which had
frequently harassed the Christian camp. The inhabitants were
threatened with the sword unless they instantly surrendered. They
claimed the same terms that had been granted to Malaga, imagining
them to be freedom of person and security of property. Their claim
was granted: they were transported to Malaga with all their riches,
and on arriving there were overwhelmed with consternation at finding
themselves captives. ”Ferdinand,” observes Fray Antonio Agapida,
”was a man of his word; they were shut up in the enclosure at the
Alcazaba with the people of Malaga and shared their fate.”

The unhappy captives remained thus crowded in the courtyards of

the Alcazaba, like sheep in a fold, until they could be sent by sea
and land to Seville. They were then distributed about in city and
country, each Christian family having one or more to feed and
maintain as servants until the term fixed for the payment of the
residue of the ransom should expire. The captives had obtained
permission that several of their number should go about among
the Moorish towns of the kingdom of Granada collecting contributions
to aid in the purchase of their liberties, but these towns were too
much impoverished by the war and engrossed by their own distresses
to lend a listening ear; so the time expired without the residue of
the ransom being paid, and all the captives of Malaga, to the
number, as some say, of eleven, and others of fifteen, thousand,
became slaves. ”Never,” exclaims the worthy Fray Antonio Agapida in
one of his usual bursts of zeal and loyalty,–”never has there been
recorded a more adroit and sagacious arrangement than this made by
the Catholic monarch, by which he not only secured all the property
and half of the ransom of these infidels, but finally got possession
of their persons into the bargain. This truly may be considered one
of the greatest triumphs of the pious and politic Ferdinand, and as
raising him above the generality of conquerors, who have merely the
valor to gain victories, but lack the prudence and management
necessary to turn them to account.”

The detestable policy of Ferdinand in regard to the Moorish

captives of Malaga is recorded at length by the curate of Los
Palacios (c. 87), a contemporary, a zealous admirer of the king,
and one of the most honest of chroniclers, who really thought
he was recording a notable instance of sagacious piety.

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CHAPTER LXVII.

HOW KING FERDINAND PREPARED TO CARRY THE WAR INTO A

DIFFERENT PART OF THE TERRITORIES OF THE MOORS.

The western part of the kingdom of Granada had now been conquered
by the Christian arms. The seaport of Malaga was captured; the fierce
and warlike inhabitants of Serrania de Ronda and the other
mountain-holds of the frontier were all disarmed and reduced to
peaceful and laborious vassalage; their haughty fortresses, which
had so long overawed the valleys of Andalusia, now displayed the
standard of Castile and Aragon; the watch-towers which crowned
every height, whence the infidels had kept a vulture eye over the
Christian territories, were now either dismantled or garrisoned with
Catholic troops. ”What signalized and sanctified this great triumph,”
adds the worthy Fray Antonio Agapida, ”were the emblems of
ecclesiastical domination which everywhere appeared. In every
direction rose stately convents and monasteries, those fortresses
of the faith garrisoned by its spiritual soldiery of monks and friars.
The sacred melody of Christian bells was again heard among the
mountains, calling to early matins or sounding the Angelus at the
solemn hour of evening.”

The worthy curate of Los Palacios intimates in his chronicle that

this melody, so grateful to the ears of pious Christians, was a
source of perpetual torment to the ears of infidels.

While this part of the kingdom was thus reduced by the Christian
sword, the central part, round the city of Granada, forming the
heart of the Moorish territory, was held in vassalage of the
Castilian monarch by Boabdil, surnamed El Chico. That unfortunate
prince lost no occasion to propitiate the conquerors of his country by
acts of homage and by professions that must have been foreign to
his heart. No sooner had he heard of the capture of Malaga than
he sent congratulations to the Catholic sovereigns, accompanied
with presents of horses richly caparisoned for the king, and precious
cloth of gold and Oriental perfumes for the queen. His congratulations
and his presents were received with the utmost graciousness, and
the short-sighted prince, lulled by the temporary and politic
forbearance of Ferdinand, flattered himself that he was securing
the lasting friendship of that monarch.

The policy of Boabdil had its transient and superficial advantages.

The portion of Moorish territory under his immediate sway had a
respite from the calamities of war, the husbandmen cultivated their
luxuriant fields in security, and the Vega of Granada once more
blossomed like the rose. The merchants again carried on a gainful
traffic: the gates of the city were thronged with beasts of burden,

220
bringing the rich products of every clime. Yet, while the people of
Granada rejoiced in their teeming fields and crowded marts, they
secretly despised the policy which had procured them these
advantages, and held Boabdil for little better than an apostate and
an unbeliever. Muley Abdallah el Zagal was now the hope of the
unconquered part of the kingdom, and every Moor whose spirit was not
quite subdued with his fortunes lauded the valor of the old monarch
and his fidelity to the faith, and wished success to his standard.

El Zagal, though he no longer sat enthroned in the Alhambra, yet

reigned over more considerable domains than his nephew. His
territories extended from the frontier of Jaen along the borders of
Murcia to the Mediterranean, and reached into the centre of the
kingdom. On the northeast he held the cities of Baza and Guadix,
situated in the midst of fertile regions. He had the important
seaport of Almeria also, which at one time rivalled Granada itself
in wealth and population. Besides these, his territories included a
great part of the Alpuxarras mountains, which extend across the
kingdom and shoot out branches toward the sea-coast. This
mountainous region was a stronghold of wealth and power. Its stern
and rocky heights, rising to the clouds, seemed to set invasion at
defiance, yet within their rugged embraces were sheltered delightful
valleys of the happiest temperature and richest fertility. The cool
springs and limpid rills which gushed out in all parts of the
mountains, and the abundant streams which for a great part of the
year were supplied by the Sierra Nevada, spread a perpetual verdure
over the skirts and slopes of the hills, and, collecting in silver
rivers in the valleys, wound along among plantations of mulberry
trees and groves of oranges and citrons, of almonds, figs, and
pomegranates. Here was produced the finest silk of Spain, which gave
employment to thousands of manufacturers. The sunburnt sides of the
hills also were covered with vineyards; the abundant herbage of the
mountain-ravines and the rich pasturage of the valleys fed vast
flocks and herds; and even the arid and rocky bosoms of the heights
teemed with wealth from the mines of various metals with which they
were impregnated. In a word, the Alpuxarras mountains had ever
been the great source of revenue to the monarchs of Granada. Their
inhabitants also were hardy and warlike, and a sudden summons from
the Moorish king could at any time call forth fifty thousand fighting-
men from their rocky fastnesses.

Such was the rich but rugged fragment of an empire which remained
under the sway of the old warrior-monarch El Zagal. The mountain-
barriers by which it was locked up had protected it from most of the
ravages of the present war. El Zagal prepared himself by
strengthening every fortress to battle fiercely for its maintenance.

The Catholic sovereigns saw that fresh troubles and toils awaited
them. The war had to be carried into a new quarter, demanding
immense expenditure, and new ways and means must be devised

221
to replenish their exhausted coffers. ”As this was a holy war,
however,” says Fray Antonio Agapida, ”and peculiarly redounded
to the prosperity of the Church, the clergy were full of zeal, and
contributed vast sums of money and large bodies of troops. A
pious fund was also produced from the first fruits of that glorious
institution, the Inquisition.”

It so happened that about this time there were many families of

wealth and dignity in the kingdoms of Aragon and Valencia and the
principality of Catalonia whose forefathers had been Jews, but had
been converted to Christianity. Notwithstanding the outward piety
of these families, it was surmised, and soon came to be strongly
suspected, that many of then had a secret hankering after Judaism,
and it was even whispered that some of them practised Jewish rites
in private.

The Catholic monarch (continues Agapida) had a righteous abhorrence

of all kinds of heresy and a fervent zeal for the faith; he ordered,
therefore, a strict investigation of the conduct of these pseudo-
Christians. Inquisitors were sent into the provinces for the purpose,
who proceeded with their accustomed zeal. The consequence was,
that many families were convicted of apostasy from the Christian
faith and of the private practice of Judaism. Some, who had grace
and policy sufficient to reform in time, were again received into the
Christian fold after being severely mulcted and condemned to
heavy penance; others were burnt at ”auto de fes” for the
edification of the public, and their property was confiscated for
the good of the state.

As these Hebrews were of great wealth and had an hereditary passion

for jewelry, there was found abundant store in their possession of
gold and silver, of rings and necklaces, and strings of pearl and
coral, and precious stones–treasures easy of transportation and
wonderfully adapted for the emergencies of war. ”In this way,”
concludes the pious Agapida, ”these backsliders, by the all-seeing
contrivances of Providence, were made to serve the righteous cause
which they had so treacherously deserted; and their apostate wealth
was sanctified by being devoted to the service of Heaven and the
Crown in this holy crusade against the infidels.”

It must be added, however, that these pious financial expedients

received some check from the interference of Queen Isabella. Her
penetrating eyes discovered that many enormities had been committed
under color of religious zeal, and many innocent persons accused by
false witnesses of apostasy, either through malice or a hope of
obtaining their wealth: she caused strict investigation, therefore,
into the proceedings which had been held, many of which were
reversed, and suborners punished in proportion to their guilt.

Pulgar, part 3, c. 100.

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CHAPTER LXVIII.

HOW KING FERDINAND INVADED THE EASTERN SIDE OF THE

KINGDOM OF GRANADA, AND HOW HE WAS RECEIVED BY
EL ZAGAL.

”Muley Abdallah el Zagal,” says the venerable Jesuit father Pedro

Abarca, ”was the most venomous Mahometan in all Morisma;” and
the worthy Fray Antonio Agapida most devoutly echoes his opinion.
”Certainly,” adds the latter, ”none ever opposed a more heathenish
and diabolical obstinacy to the holy inroads of the cross and sword.”

El Zagal felt that it was necessary to do something to quicken his

popularity with the people, and that nothing was more effectual than
a successful inroad. The Moors loved the stirring call to arms and a
wild foray among the mountains, and delighted more in a hasty spoil,
wrested with hard fighting from the Christians, than in all the steady
and certain gains secured by peaceful traffic.

There reigned at this time a careless security along the frontier of

Jaen. The alcaydes of the Christian fortresses were confident of
the friendship of Boabdil el Chico, and they fancied his uncle too
distant and too much engrossed by his own perplexities to think of
molesting them. On a sudden El Zagal issued out of Guadix with a
chosen band, passed rapidly through the mountains which extend
behind Granada, and fell like a thunderbolt upon the territories in
the neighborhood of Alcala la Real. Before the alarm could be spread
and the frontier roused he had made a wide career of destruction
through the country, sacking and burning villages, sweeping off
flocks and herds, and carrying away captives. The warriors of the
frontier assembled, but El Zagal was already far on his return
through the mountains, and he re-entered the gates of Guadix in
triumph, his army laden with Christian spoil and conducting an
immense cavalgada. Such was one of El Zagal’s preparatives for the
expected invasion of the Christian king, exciting the warlike spirit
of his people, and gaining for himself a transient popularity.

King Ferdinand assembled his army at Murcia in the spring of 1488.

He left that city on the fifth of June with a flying camp of four
thousand horse and fourteen thousand foot. The marques of Cadiz led
the van, followed by the adelantado of Murcia. The army entered the
Moorish frontier by the sea-coast, spreading terror through the land:
wherever it appeared, the towns surrendered without a blow, so
great was the dread of experiencing the woes which had desolated
the opposite frontier. In this way Vera, Velez el Rubio, Velez el

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Blanco, and many towns of inferior note to the number of sixty
yielded at the first summons.

It was not until it approached Almeria that the army met with
resistance. This important city was commanded by the prince
Zelim, a relation of El Zagal. He led forth his Moors bravely to the
encounter, and skirmished fiercely with the advance guard in the
gardens near the city. King Ferdinand came up with the main body
of the army and called off his troops from the skirmish. He saw that
to attack the place with his present force was fruitless. Having
reconnoitred the city and its environs, therefore, against a future
campaign, he retired with his army and marched toward Baza.

The old warrior El Zagal was himself drawn up in the city of Baza
with a powerful garrison. He felt confidence in the strength of the
place, and rejoiced when he heard that the Christian king was
approaching. In the valley in front of Baza there extended a great
tract of gardens, like a continued grove, intersected by canals and
water courses. In this he stationed an ambuscade of arquebusiers
and crossbowmen. The vanguard of the Christian army came
marching gayly up the valley with great sound of drum and trumpet,
and led on by the marques of Cadiz and the adelantado of Murcia.
As they drew near El Zagal sallied forth with horse and foot and
attacked them for a time with great spirit. Gradually falling back,
as if pressed by their superior valor, he drew the exulting Christians
among the gardens. Suddenly the Moors in ambuscade burst
from their concealment, and opened such a fire in flank and rear
that many of the Christians were slain and the rest thrown into
confusion. King Ferdinand arrived in time to see the disastrous
situation of his troops, and gave signal for the vanguard to retire.

El Zagal did not permit the foe to draw off unmolested. Ordering out
fresh squadrons, he fell upon the rear of the retreating troops with
triumphant shouts, driving them before him with dreadful havoc. The
old war-cry of ”El Zagal! El Zagal!” was again put up by the Moors,
and echoed with transport from the walls of the city. The Christians
were in imminent peril of a complete rout, when, fortunately, the
adelantado of Murcia threw himself with a large body of horse and
foot between the pursuers and the pursued, covering the retreat
of the latter and giving them time to rally. The Moors were now
attacked so vigorously in turn that they gave over the contest and
drew back slowly into the city. Many valiant cavaliers were slain in
this skirmish; among the number was Don Philip of Aragon, master
of the chivalry of St. George of Montesor: he was illegitimate son of
the king’s illegitimate brother Don Carlos, and his death was
greatly bewailed by Ferdinand. He had formerly been archbishop of
Palermo, but had doffed the cassock for the cuirass, and, according
to Fray Antonio Agapida, had gained a glorious crown of martyrdom
by falling in this holy war.

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 The warm reception of his advance guard brought King Ferdinand
to a pause: he encamped on the banks of the neighboring river
Guadalquiton, and began to consider whether he had acted wisely in
undertaking this campaign with his present force. His late successes
had probably rendered him over-confident: El Zagal had again
schooled him into his characteristic caution. He saw that the old
warrior was too formidably ensconced in Baza to be dislodged by
anything except a powerful army and battering artillery, and he
feared that should he persist in his invasion some disaster might
befall his army, either from the enterprise of the foe or from a
pestilence which prevailed in various parts of the country. He
retired, therefore, from before Baza, as he had on a former occasion
from before Loxa, all the wiser for a wholesome lesson in warfare,
but by no means grateful to those who had given it, and with a
solemn determination to have his revenge upon his teachers.

He now took measures for the security of the places gained in the
campaign, placing in them strong garrisons, well armed and supplied,
charging their alcaydes to be vigilant on their posts and to give no
rest to the enemy. The whole of the frontier was under the command
of Luis Fernandez Puerto Carrero. As it was evident from the warlike
character of El Zagal that there would be abundance of active service
and hard fighting, many hidalgos and young cavaliers eager for
distinction remained with Puerto Carrero.

All these dispositions being made, King Ferdinand closed the dubious
campaign of this year, not, as usual, by returning in triumph at the
head of his army to some important city of his dominions, but by
disbanding the troops and repairing to pray at the cross of Caravaca.

CHAPTER LXIX.

HOW THE MOORS MADE VARIOUS ENTERPRISES AGAINST THE

CHRISTIANS.

”While the pious king Ferdinand,” observes Fray Antonio Agapida,

”was humbling himself before the cross and devoutly praying for the
destruction of his enemies, that fierce pagan, El Zagal, depending
merely on arm of flesh and sword of steel, pursued his diabolical
outrages upon the Christians.” No sooner was the invading army
disbanded than he sallied forth from his stronghold, and carried
fire and sword into all those parts which had submitted to the
Spanish yoke. The castle of Nixar, being carelessly guarded, was
taken by surprise and its garrison put to the sword. The old warrior
raged with sanguinary fury about the whole frontier, attacking
convoys, slaying, wounding, and making prisoners, and coming by

225
surprise upon the Christians wherever they were off their guard.

Carlos de Biedma, alcayde of the fortress of Culla, confiding in the

strength of its walls and towers and in its difficult situation, being
built on the summit of a lofty hill and surrounded by precipices,
ventured to absent himself from his post. He was engaged to be
married to a fair and noble lady of Baeza, and repaired to that city
to celebrate his nuptials, escorted by a brilliant array of the best
horsemen of his garrison. Apprised of his absence, the vigilant
El Zagal suddenly appeared before Culla with a powerful force,
stormed the town sword in hand, fought the Christians from
street to street, and drove them with great slaughter to the
citadel. Here a veteran captain, by the name of Juan de Avalos,
a gray-headed warrior scarred in many a battle, assumed the
command and made an obstinate defence. Neither the multitude
of the enemy nor the vehemence of their attacks, though led on
by the terrible El Zagal himself, had power to shake the fortitude
of this doughty old soldier.

The Moors undermined the outer walls and one of the towers of the
fortress, and made their way into the exterior court. The alcayde
manned the tops of his towers, pouring down melted pitch and
showering darts, arrows, stones, and all kinds of missiles upon the
assailants. The Moors were driven out of the court, but, being
reinforced with fresh troops, returned repeatedly to the assault.
For five days the combat was kept up: the Christians were nearly
exhausted, but were sustained by the cheerings of their stanch old
alcayde and the fear of death from El Zagal should they surrender.
At length the approach of a powerful force under Don Luis Puerto
Carrero relieved them from this fearful peril. El Zagal abandoned
the assault, but set fire to the town in his rage and disappointment,
and retired to his stronghold of Guadix.

The example of El Zagal roused his adherents to action. Two bold

Moorish alcaydes, Ali Aliatar and Yzan Aliatar, commanding the
fortresses of Alhenden and Salobrena, laid waste the country of the
subjects of Boabdil and the places which had recently submitted to
the Christians: they swept off the cattle, carried off captives, and
harassed the whole of the newly-conquered frontier.

The Moors also of Almeria and Tavernas and Purchena made inroads
into Murcia, and carried fire and sword into its most fertile regions.
On the opposite frontier also, among the wild valleys and rugged
recesses of the Sierra Bermeja, or Red Mountains, many of the
Moors who had lately submitted again flew to arms. The marques of
Cadiz suppressed by timely vigilance the rebellion of the mountain-
town of Gausin, situated on a high peak almost among the clouds;
but others of the Moors fortified themselves in rock-built towers and
castles, inhabited solely by warriors, whence they carried on a
continual war of forage and depredation, sweeping down into the

226
valleys and carrying off flocks and herds and all kinds of booty to
these eagle-nests, to which it was perilous and fruitless to pursue
them.

The worthy Fray Antonio Agapida closes his history of this checkered
year in quite a different strain from those triumphant periods with
which he is accustomed to wind up the victorious campaigns of the
sovereigns. ”Great and mighty,” says this venerable chronicler,
”were the floods and tempests which prevailed throughout the
kingdoms of Castile and Aragon about this time. It seemed as though
the windows of heaven were again opened and a second deluge
overwhelming the face of nature. The clouds burst as it were in
cataracts upon the earth; torrents rushed down from the mountains,
overflowing the valleys; brooks were swelled into raging rivers;
houses were undermined; mills were swept away by their own
streams; the affrighted shepherds saw their flocks drowned in the
midst of the pasture, and were fain to take refuge for their lives in
towers and high places. The Guadalquivir for a time became a roaring
and tumultuous sea, inundating the immense plain of the Tablada and
filling the fair city of Seville with affright.

”A vast black cloud moved over the land, accompanied by a hurricane

and a trembling of the earth. Houses were unroofed, the walls and
battlements of fortresses shaken, and lofty towers rocked to their
foundations. Ships riding at anchor were either stranded or
swallowed up; others, under sail, were tossed to and fro upon
mountain waves and cast upon the land, where the whirlwind rent
them in pieces and scattered them in fragments in the air. Doleful
was the ruin and great the terror where this baleful cloud passed
by, and it left a long track of desolation over sea and land. Some of
the faint-hearted,” adds Antonio Agapida, ”looked upon this torment
of the elements as a prodigious event, out of the course of nature.
In the weakness of their fears they connected it with those troubles
which occurred in various places, considering it a portent of some
great calamity about to be wrought by the violence of the bloody-
handed El Zagal and his fierce adherents.”

See Cura de los Palacios, cap. 91; Palencia, De Bello Granad.,

lib. 8.

CHAPTER LXX.

HOW KING FERDINAND PREPARED TO BESIEGE THE CITY OF

BAZA, AND HOW THE CITY PREPARED FOR DEFENCE.

The stormy winter had passed away, and the spring of 1489 was

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advancing, yet the heavy rains had broken up the roads, the
mountain-brooks were swollen to raging torrents, and the late
shallow and peaceful rivers were deep, turbulent, and dangerous.
The Christian troops had been summoned to assemble in early
spring on the frontiers of Jaen, but were slow in arriving at the
appointed place. They were entangled in the miry defiles of the
mountains or fretted impatiently on the banks of impassable floods.
It was late in the month of May before they assembled in sufficient
force to attempt the proposed invasion, when at length a valiant
army of thirteen thousand horse and forty thousand foot marched
merrily over the border. The queen remained at the city of Jaen with
the prince-royal and the princesses her children, accompanied and
supported by the venerable cardinal of Spain and those reverend
prelates who assisted in her councils throughout this holy war.

The plan of King Ferdinand was to lay siege to the city of Baza,
the key of the remaining possessions of the Moor. That important
fortress taken, Guadix and Almeria must soon follow, and then the
power of El Zagal would be at an end. As the Catholic king advanced
he had first to secure various castles and strongholds in the vicinity
of Baza which might otherwise harass his army. Some of these made
obstinate resistance, especially the town of Zujar. The Christians
assailed the walls with various machines to sap them and batter them
down. The brave alcayde, Hubec Abdilbar, opposed force to force and
engine to engine. He manned his towers with his bravest warriors,
who rained down an iron shower upon the enemy, and he linked
caldrons together by strong chains and cast fire from them, consuming
the wooden engines of their assailants and those who managed them.

The siege was protracted for several days: the bravery of the
alcayde could not save his fortress from an overwhelming foe, but
it gained him honorable terms. Ferdinand permitted the garrison
and the inhabitants to repair with their effects to Baza, and the
valiant Hubec marched forth with the remnant of his force and took
he way to that devoted city.

The delays caused to the invading army by these various

circumstances had been diligently improved by El Zagal, who felt
that he was now making his last stand for empire, and that this
campaign would decide whether he should continue a king or sink into
a vassal. He was but a few leagues from Baza, at the city of Guadix.
This last was the most important point of his remaining territories,
being a kind of bulwark between them and the hostile city of
Granada, the seat of his nephew’s power. Though he heard of the
tide of war, therefore, collecting and rolling toward the city of Baza,
he dared not go in person to its assistance. He dreaded that should
he leave Guadix, Boabdil would attack him in the rear while the
Christian army was battling with him in front. El Zagal trusted in
the great strength of Baza to defy any violent assault, and profited
by the delays of the Christian army to supply it with all possible

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means of defence. He sent thither all the troops he could spare from
his garrison of Guadix, and despatched missives throughout his
territories calling upon all true Moslems to hasten to Baza and make
a devoted stand in defence of their homes, their liberties, and their
religion. The cities of Tavernas and Purchena and the surrounding
heights and valleys responded to his orders and sent forth their
fighting-men to the field. The rocky fastnesses of the Alpuxarras
resounded with the din of arms: troops of horse and bodies of foot-
soldiers were seen winding down the rugged cliffs and defiles of
those marble mountains and hastening toward Baza. Many brave
cavaliers of Granada also, spurning the quiet and security of Christian
vassalage, secretly left the city and hastened to join their fighting
countrymen. The great dependence of El Zagal, however, was upon
the valor and loyalty of his cousin and brother-in-law, Cid Hiaya
Alnagar, who was alcayde of Almeria–a cavalier experienced in
warfare and redoubtable in the field. He wrote to him to leave Almeria
and repair with all speed at the head of his troops to Baza. Cid Hiaya
departed immediately with ten thousand of the bravest Moors in the
kingdom. These were for the most part hardy mountaineers, tempered
to sun and storm and tried in many a combat. None equalled them
for a sally or a skirmish. They were adroit in executing a thousand
stratagems, ambuscadoes, and evolutions. Impetuous in their assaults,
yet governed in their utmost fury by a word or sign from their commander,
at the sound of a trumpet they would check themselves in the midst of
their career, wheel off and disperse, and at another sound of a trumpet
they would as suddenly reassemble and return to the attack. They were
upon the enemy when least expected, coming like a rushing blast,
spreading havoc and consternation, and then passing away in an
instant; so that when one recovered from the shock and looked around,
behold, nothing was to be seen or heard of this tempest of war but a
cloud of dust and the clatter of retreating hoofs.

This name has generally been written Cidi Yahye. The present mode
is adopted on the authority of Alcantara in his History of Granada,
who appears to have derived it from Arabic manuscripts existing in
the archives of the marques de Corvera, descendant of Cid Hiaya.
The latter (Cid Hiaya) was son of Aben Zelim, a deceased prince of
Almeria, and was a lineal descendant from the celebrated Aben Hud,
surnamed the Just. The wife of Cid Hiaya was sister of the two
Moorish generals, Abul Cacim and Reduan Vanegas, and, like them,
the fruit of the union of a Christian knight, Don Pedro Vanegas, with
Cetimerien, a Moorish princess.

Pulgar, part 3, c. 106.

When Cid Hiaya led his train of ten thousand valiant warriors into
the gates of Baza, the city rang with acclamations and for a time
the inhabitants thought themselves secure. El Zagal also felt a glow
of confidence, notwithstanding his own absence from the city. ”Cid
Hiaya,” said he, ”is my cousin and my brother-in-law; related to me

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by blood and marriage, he is a second self: happy is that monarch
who has his kindred to command his armies.”

With all these reinforcements the garrison of Baza amounted to above

twenty thousand men. There were at this time three principal leaders
in the city: Mohammed Ibn Hassan, surnamed the Veteran, who was
military governor or alcayde, an old Moor of great experience and
discretion; the second was Hamet Abu Zali, who was captain of the
troops stationed in the place; and the third was Hubec Abdilbar,
late alcayde of Zujar, who had repaired hither with the remains of
his garrison. Over all these Cid Hiaya exercised a supreme command
in consequence of his being of the blood-royal and in the especial
confidence of Muley Abdallah el Zagal. He was eloquent and ardent in
council, and fond of striking and splendid achievements, but he was
a little prone to be carried away by the excitement of the moment
and the warmth of his imagination. The councils of war of these
commanders, therefore, were more frequently controlled by the
opinions of the old alcayde Mohammed Ibn Hassan, for whose
shrewdness, caution, and experience Cid Hiaya himself felt the
greatest deference.

The city of Baza was situated in a great valley, eight leagues in

length and three in breadth, called the Hoya, or Basin, of Baza.
It was surrounded by a range of mountains called the Sierra of
Xabalcohol, the streams of which, collecting themselves into
two rivers, watered and fertilized the country. The city was built
in the plain, one part of it protected by the rocky precipices of
the mountain and by a powerful citadel, the other by massive walls
studded with immense towers. It had suburbs toward the plain
imperfectly fortified by earthen walls. In front of these suburbs
extended a tract of orchards and gardens nearly a league in length,
so thickly planted as to resemble a continued forest. Here every
citizen who could afford it had his little plantation and his garden
of fruits and flowers and vegetables, watered by canals and rivulets
and dominated by a small tower for recreation or defence. This
wilderness of groves and gardens, intersected in all parts by canals
and runs of water, and studded by above a thousand small towers,
formed a kind of protection to this side of the city, rendering all
approach extremely difficult and perplexed.

While the Christian army had been detained before the frontier
posts, the city of Baza had been a scene of hurried and unremitting
preparation. All the grain of the surrounding valley, though yet
unripe, was hastily reaped and borne into the city to prevent it
from yielding sustenance to the enemy. The country was drained
of all its supplies; flocks and herds were driven, bleating and
bellowing, into the gates: long trains of beasts of burden, some
laden with food, others with lances, darts, and arms of all kinds,
kept pouring into the place. Already were munitions collected
sufficient for a siege of fifteen months: still, the eager and hasty

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preparation was going on when the army of Ferdinand came in sight.

On one side might be seen scattered parties of foot and horse

spurring to the gates, and muleteers hurrying forward their burdened
animals, all anxious to get under shelter before the gathering storm;
on the other side, the cloud of war came sweeping down the valley,
the roll of drum or clang of trumpet resounding occasionally from its
deep bosom, or the bright glance of arms flashing forth like vivid
lightning from its columns. King Ferdinand pitched his tents in the
valley beyond the green labyrinth of gardens. He sent his heralds
to summon the city to surrender, promising the most favorable terms
in case of immediate compliance, and avowing in the most solemn
terms his resolution never to abandon the siege until he had
possession of the place.

Upon receiving this summons the Moorish commanders held a council

of war. The prince Cid Hiaya, indignant at the menaces of the king,
was for retorting by a declaration that the garrison never would
surrender, but would fight until buried under the ruins of the walls.
”Of what avail,” said the veteran Mohammed, ”is a declaration of the
kind, which we may falsify by our deeds? Let us threaten what we
know we can perform, and let us endeavor to perform more than
we threaten.”

In conformity to his advice, therefore, a laconic reply was sent to

the Christian monarch, thanking him for his offer of favorable terms,
but informing him that they were placed in the city to defend, not to
surrender it.

CHAPTER LXXI.

THE BATTLE OF THE GARDENS BEFORE BAZA.

When the reply of the Moorish commanders was brought to King

Ferdinand, he prepared to press the siege with the utmost vigor.
Finding the camp too far from the city, and that the intervening
orchards afforded shelter for the sallies of the Moors, he determined
to advance it beyond the gardens, in the space between them and
the suburbs, where his batteries would have full play upon the city
walls. A detachment was sent in advance to take possession of the
gardens and keep a check upon the suburbs, opposing any sally
while the encampment should be formed and fortified. The various
commanders entered the orchards at different points. The young
cavaliers marched fearlessly forward, but the experienced veterans
foresaw infinite peril in the mazes of this verdant labyrinth. The
master of St. Jago, as he led his troops into the centre of the

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gardens, exhorted them to keep by one another, and to press
forward in defiance of all difficulty or danger, assuring them that
God would give them the victory if they attacked hardily and
persisted resolutely.

Scarce had they entered the verge of the orchards when a din of
drums and trumpets, mingled with war-cries, was heard from the
suburbs, and a legion of Moorish warriors on foot poured forth. They
were led on by the prince Cid Hiaya. He saw the imminent danger of
the city should the Christians gain possession of the orchards.
”Soldiers,” he cried, ”we fight for life and liberty, for our families, our
country, our religion; nothing is left for us to depend upon but the
strength of our hands, the courage of our hearts, and the almighty
protection of Allah.” The Moors answered him with shouts of war
and rushed to the encounter. The two hosts met in the midst of the
gardens. A chance-medley combat ensued with lances, arquebuses,
crossbows, and scimetars; the perplexed nature of the ground, cut
up and intersected by canals and streams, the closeness of the trees,
the multiplicity of towers and petty edifices, gave greater advantages
to the Moors, who were on foot, than to the Christians, who were on
horseback. The Moors, too, knew the ground, with all its alleys and
passes, and were thus enabled to lurk, to sally forth, attack, and
retreat almost without injury.

”Illi (Mauri) pro fortunis, pro libertate, pro laribus patriis, pro
vita denique certabant.”–Pietro Martyr, ”Epist. 70.”

The Christian commanders, seeing this, ordered many of the horsemen

to dismount and fight on foot. The battle then became fierce and
deadly, each disregarding his own life, provided he could slay his
enemy. It was not so much a general battle as a multitude of petty
actions, for every orchard and garden had its distinct contest. No
one could see farther than the little scene of fury and bloodshed
around him, nor know how the general battle fared. In vain the
captains exerted their voices, in vain the trumpets brayed forth
signals and commands: all was confounded and unheard in the
universal din and uproar. No one kept to his standard, but fought as
his own fury or fear dictated. In some places the Christians had the
advantage, in others the Moors; often a victorious party, pursuing
the vanquished, came upon a superior and triumphant force of the
enemy, and the fugitives turned back upon them in an overwhelming
wave. Some broken remnants, in their terror and confusion, fled from
their own countrymen and sought refuge among their enemies, not
knowing friend from foe in the obscurity of the groves. The Moors
were more adroit in these wild skirmishings from their flexibility,
lightness, and agility, and the rapidity with which they would
disperse, rally, and return again to the charge.

Mariana, lib. 25, cap. 13.

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 The hardest fighting was about the small garden-towers and
pavilions, which served as so many petty fortresses. Each party
by turns gained them, defended them fiercely, and were driven out;
many of the towers were set on fire, and increased the horrors of
the fight by the wreaths of smoke and flame in which they wrapped
the groves and by the shrieks of those who were burning.

Several of the Christian cavaliers, bewildered by the uproar and

confusion and shocked at the carnage which prevailed, would have
led their men out of the action, but they were entangled in a labyrinth
and knew not which way to retreat. While in this perplexity Juan
Perea, the standard-bearer of one of the squadrons of the grand
cardinal, had his arm carried off by a cannon-ball; the standard was
wellnigh falling into the hands of the enemy, when Rodrigo de
Mendoza, an intrepid youth, natural son of the grand cardinal,
rushed to its rescue through a shower of balls, lances, and arrows,
and, bearing it aloft, dashed forward with it into the hottest of
the combat, followed by his shouting soldiery.

King Ferdinand, who remained in the skirts of the orchard, was in

extreme anxiety. It was impossible to see much of the action for the
multiplicity of trees and towers and the wreaths of smoke, and those
who were driven out defeated or came out wounded and exhausted
gave different accounts, according to the fate of the partial conflicts
in which they had been engaged. Ferdinand exerted himself to the
utmost to animate and encourage his troops to this blind encounter,
sending reinforcements of horse and foot to those points where the
battle was most sanguinary and doubtful.

Among those who were brought forth mortally wounded was Don
Juan de Luna, a youth of uncommon merit, greatly prized by the king,
beloved by the army, and recently married to Dona Catalina de Urrea,
a young lady of distinguished beauty. They laid him at the foot of
a tree, and endeavored to stanch and bind up his wounds with a
scarf which his bride had wrought for him; but his life-blood flowed
too profusely, and while a holy friar was yet administering to him the
last sacred offices of the Church, he expired, almost at the feet of
his sovereign.

Mariana, P. Martyr, Zurita.

On the other hand, the veteran alcayde Mohammed Ibn Hassan,

surrounded by a little band of chieftains, kept an anxious eye upon
the scene of combat from the walls of the city. For nearly twelve
hours the battle raged without intermission. The thickness of the
foliage hid all the particulars from their sight, but they could see
the flash of swords and glance of helmets among the trees. Columns
of smoke rose in every direction, while the clash of arms, the
thundering of ribadoquines and arquebuses, the shouts and cries of
the combatants, and the groans and supplications of the wounded

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bespoke the deadly conflict waging in the bosom of the groves. They
were harassed, too, by the shrieks and lamentations of the Moorish
women and children as their wounded relatives were brought bleeding
from the scene of action, and were stunned by a general outcry of
woe on the part of the inhabitants as the body of Reduan Zafarjal,
a renegado Christian and one of the bravest of their generals, was
borne breathless into the city.

At length the din of battle approached nearer to the skirts of the

orchards. They beheld their warriors driven out from among the
groves by fresh squadrons of the enemy, and, after disputing the
ground inch by inch, obliged to retire to a place between the
orchards and the suburbs which was fortified with palisadoes.

The Christians immediately planted opposing palisadoes, and

established strong outposts near to the retreat of the Moors, while
at the same time King Ferdinand ordered that his encampment
should be pitched within the hard-won orchards.

Mohammed Ibn Hassan sallied forth to the aid of the prince Cid
Hiaya, and made a desperate attempt to dislodge the enemy from
this formidable position, but the night had closed, and the darkness
rendered it impossible to make any impression. The Moors, however,
kept up constant assaults and alarms throughout the night, and the
weary Christians, exhausted by the toils and sufferings of the day,
were not allowed a moment of repose.

Pulgar, part 3, cap. 106, 107; Cura de los Palacios, cap. 92;
Zurita, lib. 20, cap 31.

CHAPTER LXXII.

SIEGE OF BAZA.–EMBARRASSMENTS OF THE ARMY.

The morning sun rose upon a piteous scene before the walls of Baza.
The Christian outposts, harassed throughout the night, were pale
and haggard, while the multitudes of slain which lay before their
palisadoes showed the fierce attacks they had sustained and the
bravery of their defence.

Beyond them lay the groves and gardens of Baza, once favorite
resorts for recreation and delight, now a scene of horror and
desolation. The towers and pavilions were smoking ruins; the canals
and water-courses were discolored with blood and choked with the
bodies of the slain. Here and there the ground, deep dinted with the
tramp of man and steed and plashed and slippery with gore, showed

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where had been some fierce and mortal conflict, while the bodies of
Moors and Christians, ghastly in death, lay half concealed among the
matted and trampled shrubs and flowers and herbage.

Amidst these sanguinary scenes rose the Christian tents, hastily

pitched among the gardens in the preceding evening. The experience
of the night, however, and the forlorn aspect of everything in the
morning convinced King Ferdinand of the perils and hardships to
which his camp must be exposed in its present situation, and after
a consultation with his principal cavaliers he resolved to abandon
the orchards.

It was a dangerous movement, to extricate his army from so entangled

a situation in the face of so alert and daring an enemy. A bold front
was therefore kept up toward the city; additional troops were ordered
to the advanced posts, and works begun as if for a settled encampment.
Not a tent was struck in the gardens, but in the mean time the most
active and unremitting exertions were made to remove all the baggage
and furniture of the camp back to the original station.

All day the Moors beheld a formidable show of war maintained in

front of the gardens, while in the rear the tops of the Christian
tents and the pennons of the different commanders were seen rising
above the groves. Suddenly, toward evening the tents sank and
disappeared, the outposts broke up their stations and withdrew,
and the whole shadow of an encampment was fast vanishing from
their eyes.

The Moors saw too late the subtle manoeuvre of King Ferdinand.
Cid Hiaya again sallied forth with a large force of horse and foot,
and pressed furiously upon the Christians. The latter; however,
experienced in Moorish attack, retired in close order, sometimes
turning upon the enemy and driving them to their barricadoes, and
then pursuing their retreat. In this way the army was extricated
without much further loss from the perilous labyrinths of the gardens.

The camp was now out of danger, but it was also too distant from
the city to do mischief, while the Moors could sally forth and return
without hindrance. The king called a council of war to consider in
what manner to proceed. The marques of Cadiz was for abandoning
the siege for the present, the place being too strong, too well
garrisoned and provided, and too extensive for their limited forces
either to carry it by assault or invest and reduce it by famine,
while in lingering before it the army would be exposed to the usual
maladies and sufferings of besieging armies, and when the rainy
season came on would be shut up by the swelling of the rivers. He
recommended, instead, that the king should throw garrisons of horse
and foot into all the towns captured in the neighborhood, and leave
them to keep up a predatory war upon Baza, while he should
overrun and ravage all the country, so that in the following year

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Almeria and Guadix, having all their subject towns and territories
taken from them, might be starved into submission.

Don Gutierre de Cardenas, senior commander of Leon, on the other

hand, maintained that to abandon the siege would be construed by
the enemy into a sign of weakness and irresolution. It would give new
spirits to the partisans of El Zagal, and would gain to his standard
many of the wavering subjects of Boabdil, if it did not encourage the
fickle populace of Granada to open rebellion. He advised, therefore,
that the siege should be prosecuted with vigor.

The pride of Ferdinand pleaded in favor of the last opinion, for it

would be doubly humiliating again to return from a campaign in this
part of the Moorish kingdom without effecting a blow. But when he
reflected on all that his army had suffered, and on all that it must
suffer should the siege continue–especially from the difficulty of
obtaining a regular supply of provisions for so numerous a host
across a great extent of rugged and mountainous country–he
determined to consult the safety of his people and to adopt the
advice of the marques of Cadiz.

When the soldiery heard that the king was about to raise the siege
in mere consideration of their sufferings, they were filled with
generous enthusiasm, and entreated as with one voice that the
siege might never be abandoned until the city surrendered.

Perplexed by conflicting counsels, the king despatched messengers to

the queen at Jaen, requesting her advice. Posts had been stationed
between them in such manner that missives from the camp could reach
the queen within ten hours. Isabella sent instantly her reply. She left
the policy of raising or continuing the siege to the decision of the king
and his captains, but, should they determine to persevere, she pledged
herself, with the aid of God, to forward them men, money, provisions
and all other supplies until the city should be taken.

The reply of the queen determined Ferdinand to persevere, and when

his determination was made known to the army, it was hailed with as
much joy as if it had been tidings of a victory.

CHAPTER LXXIII.

SIEGE OF BAZA CONTINUED.–HOW KING FERDINAND COMPLETELY

INVESTED THE CITY.

The Moorish prince Cid Hiaya had received tidings of the doubts and
discussions in the Christian camp, and flattered himself with hopes

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that the besieging army would soon retire in despair, though the
veteran Mohammed shook his head with incredulity. A sudden
movement one morning in the Christian camp seemed to confirm the
sanguine hopes of the prince. The tents were struck, the artillery
and baggage were conveyed away, and bodies of soldiers began
to march along the valley. The momentary gleam of triumph was
soon dispelled. The Catholic king had merely divided his host into
two camps, the more effectually to distress the city.

One, consisting of four thousand horse and eight thousand foot,

with all the artillery and battering engines, took post on the side of
the city toward the mountain. This was commanded by the marques of
Cadiz, with whom were Don Alonso de Aguilar, Luis Fernandez Puerto
Carrero, and many other distinguished cavaliers.

The other camp was commanded by the king, having six thousand horse
and a great host of foot-soldiers, the hardy mountaineers of Biscay,
Guipuscoa, Galicia, and the Asturias. Among the cavaliers who were
with the king were the brave count de Tendilla, Don Rodrigo de
Mendoza, and Don Alonso de Cardenas, master of Santiago.

The two camps were wide asunder, on opposite sides of the city, and
between them lay the thick wilderness of orchards. Both camps were
therefore fortified by great trenches, breastworks, and palisadoes.
The veteran Mohammed, as he saw these two formidable camps
glittering on either side of the city, and noted the well-known
pennons of renowned commanders fluttering above them, still
comforted his companions. ”These camps,” said he, ”are too far
removed from each other for mutual succor and cooperation, and the
forest of orchards is as a gulf between them.” This consolation
was but of short continuance. Scarcely were the Christian camps
fortified when the ears of the Moorish garrison were startled by the
sound of innumerable axes and the crash of falling trees. They
looked with anxiety from their highest towers, and beheld their
favorite groves sinking beneath the blows of the Christian pioneers.
The Moors sallied forth with fiery zeal to protect their beloved
gardens and the orchards in which they so much delighted. The
Christians, however, were too well supported to be driven from their
work. Day after day the gardens became the scene of incessant and
bloody skirmishings; yet still the devastation of the groves went
on, for King Ferdinand was too well aware of the necessity of
clearing away this screen of woods not to bend all his forces to the
undertaking. It was a work, however, of gigantic toil and patience.
The trees were of such magnitude, and so closely set together, and
spread over so wide an extent, that, notwithstanding four thousand
men were employed, they could scarcely clear a strip of land ten
paces broad within a day; and such were the interruptions from the
incessant assaults of the Moors that it was full forty days before
the orchards were completely levelled.

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 The devoted city of Baza now lay stripped of its beautiful covering
of groves and gardens, at once its ornament, its delight, and its
protection. The besiegers went on slowly and surely, with almost
incredible labors, to invest and isolate the city. They connected
their camps by a deep trench across the plain a league in length,
into which they diverted the waters of the mountain-streams. They
protected this trench by palisadoes, fortified by fifteen castles
at regular distances. They dug a deep trench also, two leagues
in length, across the mountain in the rear of the city, reaching
from camp to camp, and fortified it on each side with walls of earth
and stone and wood. Thus the Moors were enclosed on all sides by
trenches, palisadoes, walls, and castles, so that it was impossible
for them to sally beyond this great line of circumvallation, nor
could any force enter to their succor. Ferdinand made an attempt
likewise to cut off the supply of water from the city; ”for water,”
observes the worthy Agapida, ”is more necessary to these infidels
than bread, making use of it in repeated daily ablutions enjoined by
their damnable religion, and employing it in baths and in a thousand
other idle and extravagant modes of which we Spaniards and
Christians make but little account.”

There was a noble fountain of pure water which gushed out at the
foot of the hill Albohacen just behind the city. The Moors had
almost a superstitious fondness for this fountain, and chiefly
depended upon it for their supplies. Receiving intimation from some
deserters of the plan of King Ferdinand to get possession of this
precious fountain, they sallied forth at night and threw up such
powerful works upon the impending hill as to set all attempts of
the Christian assailants at defiance.

CHAPTER LXXIV.

EXPLOIT OF HERNANDO PEREZ DEL PULGAR AND OTHER

CAVALIERS.

The siege of Baza, while it displayed the skill and science of the
Christian commanders, gave but little scope for the adventurous
spirit and fiery valor of the young Spanish cavaliers. They repined
at the tedious monotony and dull security of their fortified camp,
and longed for some soul-stirring exploit of difficulty and danger.
Two of the most spirited of these youthful cavaliers were Francisco
de Bazan and Antonio de Cueva, the latter of whom was son to the
duke of Albuquerque. As they were one day seated on the ramparts
of the camp, and venting their impatience at this life of inaction,
they were overheard by a veteran adalid, one of those scouts or
guides who were acquainted with all parts of the country. ”Seniors,”

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said he, ”if you wish for a service of peril and profit, if you are
willing to pluck the fiery old Moor by the beard, I can lead you to
where you may put your mettle to the proof. Hard by the city of
Guadix are certain hamlets rich in booty. I can conduct you by a way
in which you may come upon them by surprise, and if you are as cool
in the head as you are hot in the spur, you may bear off your spoils
from under the very eyes of old El Zagal.”

The idea of thus making booty at the very gates of Guadix pleased
the hot-spirited youths. These predatory excursions were frequent
about this time, and the Moors of Padul, Alhenden, and other towns
of the Alpuxarras had recently harassed the Christian territories by
expeditions of the kind. Francisco de Bazan and Antonio de Cueva
soon found other young cavaliers of their age eager to join in the
adventure, and in a little while they had nearly three hundred
horse and two hundred foot ready equipped and eager for the foray.

Keeping their destination secret, they sallied out of the camp on

the edge of an evening, and, guided by the adalid, made their way
by starlight through the most secret roads of the mountains. In this
way they pressed on rapidly day and night, until early one morning,
before cock-crowing, they fell suddenly upon the hamlets, made
prisoners of the inhabitants, sacked the houses, ravaged the fields,
and, sweeping through the meadows, gathered together all the flocks
and herds. Without giving themselves time to rest, they set out upon
their return, making with all speed for the mountains before the
alarm should be given and the country roused.

Several of the herdsmen, however, had fled to Guadix, and carried

tidings of the ravage to El Zagal. The beard of old Muley trembled
with rage: he immediately sent out six hundred of his choicest horse
and foot, with orders to recover the booty and to bring those
insolent marauders captive to Guadix.

The Christian cavaliers were urging their cavalgada of cattle and

sheep up a mountain as fast as their own weariness would permit,
when, looking back, they beheld a great cloud of dust, and presently
descried the turbaned host hot upon their traces.

They saw that the Moors were superior in number; they were fresh
also, both man and steed, whereas both they and their horses were
fatigued by two days and two nights of hard marching. Several of the
horsemen therefore gathered round the commanders and proposed
that they should relinquish their spoil and save themselves by flight.
The captains, Francisco de Bazan and Antonio de Cueva, spurned at
such craven counsel. ”What?” cried they, ”abandon, our prey without
striking a blow? Leave our foot-soldiers too in the lurch, to be
overwhelmed by the enemy? If any one gives such counsel through
fear, he mistakes the course of safety, for there is less danger in
presenting a bold front to the foe than in turning a dastard back,

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and fewer men are killed in a brave advance than in a cowardly
retreat.”

Some of the cavaliers were touched by these words, and declared that
they would stand by the foot-soldiers like true companions-in-arms:
the great mass of the party, however, were volunteers, brought

together by chance, who received no pay nor had any common tie to
keep them together in time of danger. The pleasure of the expedition
being over, each thought but of his own safety, regardless of his
companions. As the enemy approached the tumult of opinions increased
and everything was in confusion. The captains, to put an end to the
dispute, ordered the standard-bearer to advance against the Moors,
well knowing that no true cavalier would hesitate to follow and
defend his banner. The standard-bearer hesitated: the troops were
on the point of taking to flight.

Upon this a cavalier of the royal guards rode to the front. It was
Hernan Perez del Pulgar, alcayde of the fortress of Salar, the same
dauntless ambassador who once bore to the turbulent people of Malaga
the king’s summons to surrender. Taking off a handkerchief which he
wore round his head after the Andalusian fashion, he tied it to the
end of a lance and elevated it in the air. ”Cavaliers,” cried he, ”why
do ye take weapons in your hands if you depend upon your feet for
safety? This day will determine who is the brave man and who the
coward. He who is disposed to fight shall not want a standard: let
him follow this handkerchief.” So saying, he waved his banner and
spurred bravely against the Moors. His example shamed some and
filled others with generous emulation: all turned with one accord,
and, following Pulgar, rushed with shouts upon the enemy. The Moors
scarcely waited to receive the shock of their encounter. Seized with
a panic, they took to flight, and were pursued for a considerable
distance with great slaughter. Three hundred of their dead strewed
the road, and were stripped and despoiled by the conquerors; many
were taken prisoners, and the Christian cavaliers returned in triumph
to the camp with a long cavalgada of sheep and cattle and mules
laden with booty, and bearing before them the singular standard
which had conducted them to victory.

King Ferdinand was so pleased with the gallant action of Hernan

Perez del Pulgar that he immediately conferred on him the honor of
knighthood, using in the ceremony the sword of Diego de Aguero, the
captain of the royal guards; the duke of Esculona girded one of his
own gilt spurs upon his heel, and the grand master of Santiago, the
count de Cabra, and Gonsalvo of Cordova officiated as witnesses.
Furthermore, to perpetuate in his family the memory of his
achievement, the sovereigns authorized him to emblazon on his
escutcheon a golden lion in an azure field, bearing a lance with a
handkerchief at the end of it. Round the border of the escutcheon
were depicted the eleven alcaydes vanquished in the battle. The

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foregoing is but one of many hardy and heroic deeds done by this
brave cavalier in the wars against the Moors, by which he gained
great renown and the distinguished appellation of ”El de las
hazanas,” or ”He of the exploits.”

Alcantara, Hist. de Granada, tomo iv. cap. 18; Pulgar, Cron.,

part iii.

Hernan or Hernando del Pulgar, the historian, secretary to Queen

Isabella, is confounded with this cavalier by some writers. He was
also present at the siege of Baza, and has recounted this
transaction in his Chronicle of the Catholic sovereigns, Ferdinand
and Isabella.

CHAPTER LXXV.

CONTINUATION OF THE SIEGE OF BAZA.

The Moorish king, El Zagal, mounted a tower and looked out eagerly
to enjoy the sight of the Christian marauders brought captive into
the gates of Guadix, but his spirits fell when he beheld his own
troops stealing back in the dusk of the evening in broken and
dejected parties.

The fortune of war bore hard against the old monarch; his mind was
harassed by disastrous tidings brought each day from Baza, of the
sufferings of the inhabitants, and the numbers of the garrison slain
in the frequent skirmishes. He dared not go in person to the relief
of the place, for his presence was necessary in Guadix to keep a
check upon his nephew in Granada. He sent reinforcements and
supplies, but they were intercepted and either captured or driven
back. Still, his situation was in some respects preferable to that
of his nephew Boabdil. He was battling like a warrior on the last
step of his throne; El Chico remained a kind of pensioned vassal in
the luxurious abode of the Alhambra. The chivalrous part of the
inhabitants of Granada could not but compare the generous stand
made by the warriors of Baza for their country and their faith with
their own time-serving submission to the yoke of an unbeliever.
Every account they received of the woes of Baza wrung their hearts
with agony; every account of the exploits of its devoted defenders
brought blushes to their cheeks. Many stole forth secretly with
their weapons and hastened to join the besieged, and the partisans
of El Zagal wrought upon the patriotism and passions of the
remainder until another of those conspiracies was formed that
were continually menacing the unsteady throne of Granada. It was
concerted by the conspirators to assail the Alhambra on a sudden,

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slay Boabdil, assemble the troops, and march to Guadix, where,
being reinforced by the garrison of that place and led on by the old
warrior monarch, they might fall with overwhelming power upon the
Christian army before Baza.

Fortunately for Boabdil, he discovered the conspiracy in time, and

the heads of the leaders were struck off and placed upon the walls
of the Alhambra–an act of severity unusual with this mild and
wavering monarch, which struck terror into the disaffected, and
produced a kind of mute tranquillity throughout the city.

Ferdinand had full information of all the movements and measures for
the relief of Baza, and took precautions to prevent them. Bodies of
horsemen held watch in the mountain-passes to prevent supplies and
intercept any generous volunteers from Granada, and watch-towers
were erected or scouts placed on every commanding height to give the
alarm at the least sign of a hostile turban.

The prince Cid Hiaya and his brave companions-in-arms were thus
gradually walled up, as it were, from the rest of the world. A line
of towers, the battlements of which bristled with troops, girded
their city, and behind the intervening bulwarks and palisadoes
passed and repassed continual squadrons of troops. Week after week
and month after month passed away, but Ferdinand waited in vain for
the garrison to be either terrified or starved into surrender. Every
day they sallied forth with the spirit and alacrity of troops high
fed and flushed with confidence. ”The Christian monarch,” said the
veteran Mohammed Ibn Hassan, ”builds his hopes upon our growing
faint and desponding–we must manifest unusual cheerfulness and
vigor. What would be rashness in other service becomes prudence
with us.” The prince Cid Hiaya agreed with him in opinion, and sallied
forth with his troops upon all kinds of hare-brained exploits. They
laid ambushes, concerted surprises, and made the most desperate
assaults. The great extent of the Christian works rendered them
weak in many parts: against these the Moors directed their attacks,
suddenly breaking into them, making a hasty ravage, and bearing off
their booty in triumph to the city. Sometimes they would sally forth
by passes and clefts of the mountain in the rear of the city which
it was difficult to guard, and, hurrying down into the plain, sweep
off all cattle and sheep that were grazing near the suburbs and all
stragglers from the camp.

These partisan sallies brought on many sharp and bloody encounters,

in some of which Don Alonso de Aguilar and the alcayde de los
Donceles distinguished themselves greatly. During one of these hot
skirmishes, which happened on the skirts of the mountain about
twilight, a cavalier named Martin Galindo beheld a powerful Moor
dealing deadly blows about him and making great havoc among the
Christians. Galindo pressed forward and challenged him to single
combat. The Moor was not slow in answering the call.

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 Couching their lances, they rushed furiously upon each other. At the
first shock the Moor was wounded in the face and borne out of his
saddle. Before Galindo could check his steed and turn from his
career the Moor sprang upon his feet, recovered his lance, and,
rushing upon him, wounded him in the head and the arm. Though
Galindo was on horseback and the Moor on foot, yet such was the
prowess and address of the latter that the Christian knight, being
disabled in the arm, was in the utmost peril when his comrades
hastened to his assistance. At their approach the valiant pagan
retreated slowly up the rocks, keeping them at bay until he found
himself among his companions.

Several of the young Spanish cavaliers, stung by the triumph of this

Moslem knight, would have challenged others of the Moors to single
combat, but King Ferdinand prohibited all vaunting encounters of the
kind. He forbade his troops also to provoke skirmishes, well knowing
that the Moors were more dextrous than most people in this irregular
mode of fighting, and were better acquainted with the ground.

CHAPTER LXXVI.

HOW TWO FRIARS FROM THE HOLY LAND ARRIVED AT THE CAMP.

While the holy Christian army (says Fray Antonio Agapida) was thus
beleaguering this infidel city of Baza there rode into the camp one
day two reverend friars of the order of St. Francis. One was of
portly person and authoritative air: he bestrode a goodly steed,
well conditioned and well caparisoned, while his companion rode
beside him upon a humble hack, poorly accoutred, and, as he rode,
he scarcely raised his eyes from the ground, but maintained a meek
and lowly air.

The arrival of two friars in the camp was not a matter of much note,
for in these holy wars the Church militant continually mingled in
the affray, and helmet and cowl were always seen together; but it
was soon discovered that these worthy saints-errant were from a
far country and on a mission of great import.

They were, in truth, just arrived from the Holy Land, being two of
the saintly men who kept vigil over the sepulchre of our Blessed
Lord at Jerusalem. He of the tall and portly form and commanding
presence was Fray Antonio Millan, prior of the Franciscan convent in
the Holy City. He had a full and florid countenance, a sonorous
voice, and was round and swelling and copious in his periods, like
one accustomed to harangue and to be listened to with deference. His

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companion was small and spare in form, pale of visage, and soft and
silken and almost whispering in speech. ”He had a humble and lowly
way,” says Agapida, ”evermore bowing the head, as became one of
his calling.” Yet he was one of the most active, zealous, and effective
brothers of the convent, and when he raised his small black eye from
the earth there was a keen glance out of the corner which showed
that, though harmless as a dove, he was nevertheless as wise as
a serpent.

These holy men had come on a momentous embassy from the grand soldan
of Egypt, or, as Agapida terms him in the language of the day, the
soldan of Babylon. The league which had been made between that
potentate and his arch-foe the Grand Turk, Bajazet II., to unite in
arms for the salvation of Granada, as has been mentioned in a
previous chapter of this chronicle, had come to naught. The infidel
princes had again taken up arms against each other, and had relapsed
into their ancient hostility. Still, the grand soldan, as head of the whole
Moslem religion, considered himself bound to preserve the kingdom of
Granada from the grasp of unbelievers. He despatched, therefore,
these two holy friars with letters to the Castilian sovereigns, as well
as to the pope and to the king of Naples, remonstrating against the
evils done to the Moors of the kingdom of Granada, who were of his
faith and kindred whereas it was well known that great numbers of
Christians were indulged and protected in the full enjoyment of their
property, their liberty, and their faith in his dominions. He insisted,
therefore, that this war should cease– that the Moors of Granada
should be reinstated in the territory of which they had been
dispossessed: otherwise he threatened to put to death all the
Christians beneath his sway, to demolish their convents and temples,
and to destroy the Holy Sepulchre.

This fearful menace had spread consternation among the Christians

of Palestine, and when the intrepid Fray Antonio Millan and his lowly
companion departed on their mission they were accompanied far
from the gates of Jerusalem by an anxious throng of brethren and
disciples, who remained watching them with tearful eyes as long as
they were in sight. These holy ambassadors were received with
great distinction by King Ferdinand, for men of their cloth had ever
high honor and consideration in his court. He had long and frequent
conversations with them about the Holy Land, the state of the
Christian Church in the dominions of the grand soldan, and of the
policy and conduct of that arch-infidel toward it. The portly prior
of the Franciscan convent was full and round and oratorical in his
replies, and the king expressed himself much pleased with the
eloquence of his periods; but the politic monarch was observed to
lend a close and attentive ear to the whispering voice of the lowly
companion, ”whose discourse,” adds Agapida, ”though modest and
low, was clear and fluent and full of subtle wisdom.” These holy friars
had visited Rome in their journeying, where they had delivered the
letter of the soldan to the sovereign pontiff. His Holiness had

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written by them to the Castilian sovereigns, requesting to know what
reply they had to offer to this demand of the Oriental potentate.

The king of Naples also wrote to them on the subject, but in wary
terms. He inquired into the cause of this war with the Moors of
Granada, and expressed great marvel at its events, as if (says
Agapida) both were not notorious throughout all the Christian world.
”Nay,” adds the worthy friar with becoming indignation, ”he uttered
opinions savoring of little better than damnable heresy; for he
observed that, although the Moors were of a different sect, they
ought not to be maltreated without just cause; and hinted that if
the Castilian sovereigns did not suffer any crying injury from the
Moors, it would be improper to do anything which might draw great
damage upon the Christians–as if, when once the sword of the
faith was drawn, it ought ever to be sheathed until this scum of
heathendom were utterly destroyed or driven from the land. But
this monarch,” he continues, ”was more kindly disposed toward
the infidels than was honest and lawful in a Christian prince, and
was at that very time in league with the soldan against their
common enemy the Grand Turk.”

These pious sentiments of the truly Catholic Agapida are echoed

by Padre Mariana in his history; but the worthy chronicler Pedro
Abarca attributes the interference of the king of Naples not to
lack of orthodoxy in religion, but to an excess of worldly policy, he
being apprehensive that should Ferdinand conquer the Moors of
Granada he might have time and means to assert a claim of the
house of Aragon to the crown of Naples.

Mariana, lib. 25, cap. 15.

”King Ferdinand,” continues the worthy father Pedro Abarca, ”was

no less master of dissimulation than his cousin of Naples; so he
replied to him with the utmost suavity of manner, going into a
minute and patient vindication of the war, and taking great apparent
pains to inform him of those things which all the world knew, but of
which the other pretended to be ignorant.” At the same time he
soothed his solicitude about the fate of the Christians in the empire
of the grand soldan, assuring him that the great revenue extorted
from them in rents and tributes would be a certain protection against
the threatened violence.

Abarca, Anales de Aragon, Rey xxx. cap. 3.

To the pope he made the usual vindication of the war–that it was

for the recovery of ancient territory usurped by the Moors, for the
punishment of wars and violences inflicted upon the Christians, and,
finally, that it was a holy crusade for the glory and advancement of
the Church.

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 ”It was a truly edifying sight,” says Agapida, ”to behold these
friars, after they had had their audience of the king, moving about
the camp always surrounded by nobles and cavaliers of high and
martial renown. These were insatiable in their questions about
the Holy Land, the state of the sepulchre of our Lord, and the
sufferings of the devoted brethren who guarded it and the pious
pilgrims who resorted there to pay their vows. The portly prior of
the convent would stand with lofty and shining countenance in the
midst of these iron warriors and declaim with resounding eloquence
on the history of the sepulchre, but the humbler brother would ever
and anon sigh deeply, and in low tones utter some tale of suffering
and outrage, at which his steel-clad hearers would grasp the hilts
of their swords and mutter between their clenched teeth prayers
for another crusade.”

The pious friars, having finished their mission to the king and been
treated with all due distinction, took their leave, and wended their
way to Jaen, to visit the most Catholic of queens. Isabella, whose
heart was the seat of piety, received them as sacred men invested
with more than human dignity. During their residence at Jaen they
were continually in the royal presence: the respectable prior of the
convent moved and melted the ladies of the court by his florid
rhetoric, but his lowly companion was observed to have continual
access to the royal ear. That saintly and soft-spoken messenger
(says Agapida) received the reward of his humility; for the queen,
moved by his frequent representations, made in all modesty and
lowliness of spirit, granted a yearly sum in perpetuity of one
thousand ducats in gold for the support of the monks of the
Convent of the Holy Sepulchre.

”La Reyna dio a los Frayles mil ducados de renta cado ano para
el sustento de los religiosos del santo sepulcro, que es la mejor
limosna y sustento que hasta nuestros dias ha quedado a estos
religiosos de Gerusalem: para donde les dio la Reyna un velo
labrado por sus manos, para poner encima de la santa sepultura
del Senor.”–Garibay, ”Compend Hist.,” lib. 18, cap. 36.

Moreover, on the departure of these holy ambassadors, the

excellent and most Catholic queen delivered to them a veil devoutly
embroidered with her own royal hands, to he placed over the Holy
Sepulchre;–a precious and inestimable present, which called forth
a most eloquent tribute of thanks from the portly prior, but which
brought tears into the eyes of his lowly companion.

It is proper to mention the result of this mission of the two friars,

and which the worthy Agapida has neglected to record. At a
subsequent period the Catholic sovereigns sent the distinguished
historian, Pietro Martyr of Angleria, as ambassador to the grand
soldan. That able man made such representations as were perfectly
satisfactory to the Oriental potentate. He also obtained from him

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the remission of many exactions and extortions heretofore practised
upon Christian pilgrims visiting the Holy Sepulchre; which, it is
presumed, had been gently but cogently detailed to the monarch
by the lowly friar. Pietro Martyr wrote an account of his embassy
to the grand soldan–a work greatly esteemed by the learned and
containing much curious information. It is entitled ”De Legatione
Babylonica.”

CHAPTER LXXVII.

HOW QUEEN ISABELLA DEVISED MEANS TO SUPPLY THE ARMY

WITH PROVISIONS.

It has been the custom to laud the conduct and address of King
Ferdinand in this most arduous and protracted war, but the sage
Agapida is more disposed to give credit to the counsels and measures
of the queen, who, he observes, though less ostensible in action,
was in truth the very soul, the vital principle, of this great
enterprise. While King Ferdinand was bustling in his camp and making
a glittering display with his gallant chivalry, she, surrounded by
her saintly counsellors in the episcopal palace of Jaen, was
devising ways and means to keep the king and his army in existence.
She had pledged herself to keep up a supply of men and money and
provisions until the city should be taken. The hardships of the
siege caused a fearful waste of life, but the supply of men was the
least difficult part of her undertaking. So beloved was the queen by
the chivalry of Spain that on her calling on them for assistance not
a grandee or cavalier that yet lingered at home but either repaired
in person or sent forces to the camp; the ancient and warlike
families vied with each other in marshalling forth their vassals,
and thus the besieged Moors beheld each day fresh troops arriving
before their city, and new ensigns and pennons displayed emblazoned
with arms well known to the veteran warriors.

But the most arduous task was to keep up a regular supply of

provisions. It was not the army alone that had to be supported, but
also the captured towns and their garrisons; for the whole country
around them had been ravaged, and the conquerors were in danger of
starving in the midst of the land they had desolated. To transport the
daily supplies for such immense numbers was a gigantic undertaking
in a country where there was neither water conveyance nor roads
for carriages. Everything had to be borne by beasts of burden over
rugged and broken paths of mountains and through dangerous defiles
exposed to the attacks and plunderings of the Moors.

The wary and calculating merchants accustomed to supply the

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army shrank from engaging at their own risk in so hazardous an
undertaking. The queen therefore hired fourteen thousand beasts
of burden, and ordered all the wheat and barley to be brought up
in Andalusia and in the domains of the knights of Santiago and
Calatrava. She entrusted the administration of these supplies to
able and confidential persons. Some were employed to collect the
grain; others to take it to the mills; others to superintend the
grinding and delivery; and others to convey it to the camp. To every
two hundred animals a muleteer was allotted to take charge of them
on the route. Thus great lines of convoys were in constant movement,
traversing to and fro, guarded by large bodies of troops to defend
them from hovering parties of the Moors. Not a single day’s
intermission was allowed, for the army depended upon the constant
arrival of the supplies for daily food. The grain when brought into
the camp was deposited in an immense granary, and sold to the
army at a fixed price, which was never either raised or lowered.

Incredible were the expenses incurred in these supplies, but the

queen had ghostly advisers thoroughly versed in the art of getting
at the resources of the country. Many worthy prelates opened the
deep purses of the Church, and furnished loans from the revenues
of their dioceses and convents, and their pious contributions were
eventually rewarded by Providence a hundred-fold. Merchants and
other wealthy individuals, confident of the punctual faith of the
queen, advanced large sums on the security of her word; many
noble families lent their plate without waiting to be asked. The
queen also sold certain annual rents in inheritance at great
sacrifices, assigning the revenues of towns and cities for the
payment. Finding all this insufficient to satisfy the enormous
expenditure, she sent her gold and plate and all her jewels to the
cities of Valencia and Barcelona, where they were pledged for a
great amount of money, which was immediately appropriated to
keep up the supplies of the army.

Thus through the wonderful activity, judgment, and enterprise of

this heroic and magnanimous woman a great host, encamped in the
heart of the warlike country accessible only over mountain-roads,
was maintained in continual abundance. Nor was it supplied merely
with the necessaries and comforts of life. The powerful escorts
drew merchants and artificers from all parts to repair, as if in
caravans, to this great military market. In a little while the camp
abounded with tradesmen and artists of all kinds to administer to
the luxury and ostentation of the youthful chivalry. Here might be
seen cunning artificers in steel and accomplished armorers achieving
those rare and sumptuous helmets and cuirasses, richly gilt, inlaid,
and embossed, in which the Spanish cavaliers delighted. Saddlers and
harness-makers and horse-milliners also were there, whose tents
glittered with gorgeous housings and caparisons. The merchants
spread forth their sumptuous silks, cloths, brocades, fine linen,
and tapestry. The tents of the nobility were prodigally decorated

248
with all kinds of the richest stuffs and dazzled the eye with their
magnificence, nor could the grave looks and grave speeches of King
Ferdinand prevent his youthful cavaliers from vying with each other
in the splendor of their dresses and caparisons on all occasions of
parade and ceremony.

CHAPTER LXXVIII.

OF THE DISASTERS WHICH BEFELL THE CAMP.

While the Christian camp, thus gay and gorgeous, spread itself out
like a holiday pageant before the walls of Baza, while a long line
of beasts of burden laden with provisions and luxuries were seen
descending the valley from morning till night, and pouring into the
camp a continued stream of abundance, the unfortunate garrison
found their resources rapidly wasting away, and famine already
began to pinch the peaceful part of the community.

Cid Hiaya had acted with great spirit and valor as long as there was
any prospect of success; but he began to lose his usual fire and
animation, and was observed to pace the walls of Baza with a pensive
air, casting many a wistful look toward the Christian camp, and
sinking into profound reveries and cogitations. The veteran alcayde,
Mohammed Ibn Hassan, noticed these desponding moods, and
endeavored to rally the spirits of the prince. ”The rainy season is
at hand,” would he cry; ”the floods will soon pour down from the
mountains; the rivers will overflow their banks and inundate the
valleys. The Christian king already begins to waver; he dare not
linger and encounter such a season in a plain cut up by canals and
rivulets. A single wintry storm from our mountains would wash away
his canvas city and sweep off those gay pavilions like wreaths of
snow before the blast.”

The prince Cid Hiaya took heart at these words, and counted the days
as they passed until the stormy season should commence. As he
watched the Christian camp he beheld it one morning in universal
commotion: there was an unusual sound of hammers in every part,
as if some new engines of war were constructing. At length, to his
astonishment, the walls and roofs of houses began to appear above
the bulwarks. In a little while there were above a thousand edifices
of wood and plaster erected, covered with tiles taken from the
demolished towers of the orchards and bearing the pennons of various
commanders and cavaliers, while the common soldiery constructed huts
of clay and branches of trees thatched with straw. Thus, to the dismay
of the Moors, within four days the light tents and gay pavilions which
had whitened their hills and plains passed away like summer clouds,

249
and the unsubstantial camp assumed the solid appearance of a city
laid out into streets and squares. In the centre rose a large edifice
which overlooked the whole, and the royal standard of Aragon and
Castile, proudly floating above it, showed it to be the palace of
the king.

Cura de los Palacios, Pulgar, etc.

Ferdinand had taken the sudden resolution thus to turn his camp into
a city, partly to provide against the approaching season, and partly
to convince the Moors of his fixed determination to continue the
siege. In their haste to erect their dwellings, however, the Spanish
cavaliers had not properly considered the nature of the climate. For
the greater part of the year there scarcely falls a drop of rain on
the thirsty soil of Andalusia. The ramblas, or dry channels of the
torrents, remain deep and arid gashes and clefts in the sides of the
mountains; the perennial streams shrink up to mere threads of water,
which, trickling down the bottoms of the deep barrancas, or ravines,
scarce feed and keep alive the rivers of the valleys. The rivers,
almost lost in their wide and naked beds, seem like thirsty rills
winding in serpentine mazes through deserts of sand and stones,
and so shallow and tranquil in their course as to be forded in safety
in almost every part. One autumnal tempest, however, changes the
whole face of nature: the clouds break in deluges among the vast
congregation of mountains; the ramblas are suddenly filled with
raging floods; the tinkling rivulets swell to thundering torrents that
come roaring down from the mountains, tumbling great masses of
rocks in their career. The late meandering river spreads over its
once-naked bed, lashes its surges against the banks, and rushes
like a wide and foaming inundation through the valley.

Scarcely had the Christians finished their slightly built edifices

when an autumnal tempest of the kind came scouring from the
mountains. The camp was immediately overflowed. Many of the
houses, undermined by the floods or beaten by the rain, crumbled
away and fell to the earth, burying man and beast beneath their ruins.
Several valuable lives were lost, and great numbers of horses and
other animals perished. To add to the distress and confusion of the
camp, the daily supply of provisions suddenly ceased, for the rain
had broken up the roads and rendered the rivers impassable. A
panic seized upon the army, for the cessation of a single day’s
supply produced a scarcity of bread and provender. Fortunately,
the rain was but transient: the torrents rushed by and ceased;
the rivers shrank back again to their narrow channels, and the
convoys which had been detained upon their banks arrived safely
in the camp.

No sooner did Queen Isabella hear of this interruption of her

supplies than, with her usual vigilance and activity, she provided
against its recurrence. She despatched six thousand foot-soldiers,

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under the command of experienced officers, to repair the roads and
to make causeways and bridges for the distance of seven Spanish
leagues. The troops also who had been stationed in the mountains
by the king to guard the defiles made two paths, one for the convoys
going to the camp, and the other for those returning, that they might
not meet and impede each other. The edifices which had been
demolished by the late floods were rebuilt in a firmer manner, and
precautions were taken to protect the camp from future inundations.

CHAPTER LXXIX.

ENCOUNTERS BETWEEN THE CHRISTIANS AND MOORS BEFORE

BAZA, AND THE DEVOTION OF THE INHABITANTS TO THE
DEFENCE OF THEIR CITY.

When King Ferdinand beheld the ravage and confusion produced by

a single autumnal storm, and bethought him of all the maladies to
which a besieging camp is exposed in inclement seasons, he began
to feel his compassion kindling for the suffering people of Baza, and
an inclination to grant them more favorable terms. He sent, therefore,
several messages to the alcayde Mohammed Ibn Hassan offering
liberty of person and security of property for the inhabitants and
large rewards for himself if he would surrender the city.

The veteran was not to be dazzled by the splendid offers of the

monarch: he had received exaggerated accounts of the damage done
to the Christian camp by the late storm, and of the sufferings and
discontents of the army in consequence of the transient interruption
of supplies: he considered the overtures of Ferdinand as proofs of
the desperate state of his affairs. ”A little more patience, a little
more patience,” said the shrewd old warrior, ”and we shall see
this cloud of Christian locusts driven away before the winter
storms. When they once turn their backs, it will be our turn to
strike; and, with the help of Allah, the blow shall be decisive.” He
sent a firm though courteous refusal to the Castilian monarch, and
in the mean time animated his companions to sally forth with more
spirit than ever to attack the Spanish outposts and those laboring
in the trenches. The consequence was a daily occurrence of daring
and bloody skirmishes that cost the lives of many of the bravest
and most adventurous cavaliers of either army.

In one of these sallies nearly three hundred horse and two thousand
foot mounted the heights behind the city to capture the Christians who
were employed upon the works. They came by surprise upon a body
of guards, esquires of the count de Urena, killed some, put the rest
to flight, and pursued them down the mountain until they came in

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sight of a small force under the count de Tendilla and Gonsalvo of
Cordova. The Moors came rushing down with such fury that many of
the men of the count de Tendilla took to flight. The count braced his
buckler, grasped his trusty weapon, and stood his ground with his
accustomed prowess. Gonsalvo of Cordova ranged himself by his side,
and, marshalling the troops which remained with them, they made a
valiant front to the Moors.

The infidels pressed them hard, and were gaining the advantage when
Alonso de Aguilar, hearing of the danger of his brother Gonsalvo, flew
to his assistance, accompanied by the count of Urena and a body of
their troops. A fight ensued from cliff to cliff and glen to glen. The
Moors were fewer in number, but excelled in the dexterity and
lightness requisite for scrambling skirmishes. They were at length
driven from their vantage-ground, and pursued by Alonso de Aguilar
and his brother Gonsalvo to the very suburbs of the city, leaving
many of their bravest men upon the field.

Such was one of innumerable rough encounters daily taking place, in

which many brave cavaliers were slain without apparent benefit to
either party. The Moors, notwithstanding repeated defeats and
losses, continued to sally forth daily with astonishing spirit and
vigor, and the obstinacy of their defence seemed to increase with
their sufferings.

The prince Cid Hiaya was ever foremost in these sallies, but
grew daily more despairing of success. All the money in the
military chest was expended, and there was no longer wherewithal
to pay the hired troops. Still, the veteran Mohammed undertook to
provide for this emergency. Summoning the principal inhabitants,
he represented the necessity of some exertion and sacrifice on their
part to maintain the defence of the city. ”The enemy,” said he,
”dreads the approach of winter, and our perseverance drives him
to despair. A little longer, and he will leave you in quiet enjoyment
of your homes and families. But our troops must be paid to keep
them in good heart. Our money is exhausted and all our supplies
are cut off. It is impossible to continue our defence without your aid.”

Upon this the citizens consulted together, and collected all their
vessels of gold and silver and brought them to Mohammed. ”Take
these,” said they, ”and coin or sell or pledge them for money
wherewith to pay the troops.” The women of Baza also were seized
with generous emulation. ”Shall we deck ourselves with gorgeous
apparel,” said they, ”when our country is desolate and its defenders
in want of bread?” So they took their collars and bracelets and
anklets and other ornaments of gold, and all their jewels, and put
them in the hands of the veteran alcayde. ”Take these spoils of our
vanity,” said they, ”and let them contribute to the defence of our
homes and families. If Baza be delivered, we need no jewels to
grace our rejoicing; and if Baza fall, of what avail are ornaments

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to the captive?”

By these contributions was Mohammed enabled to pay the soldiery

and carry on the defence of the city with unabated spirit.

Tidings were speedily conveyed to King Ferdinand of this generous

devotion on the part of the people of Baza, and the hopes which the
Moorish commanders gave them that the Christian army would soon
abandon the siege in despair. ”They shall have a convincing proof
of the fallacy of such hopes,” said the politic monarch: so he wrote
forthwith to Queen Isabella praying her to come to the camp in
state, with all her train and retinue, and publicly to take up her
residence there for the winter. By this means the Moors would be
convinced of the settled determination of the sovereigns to persist
in the siege until the city should surrender, and he trusted they
would be brought to speedy capitulation.

CHAPTER LXXX.

HOW QUEEN ISABELLA ARRIVED AT THE CAMP, AND THE

CONSEQUENCES OF HER ARRIVAL.

Mohammed Ibn Hassan still encouraged his companions with hopes that
the royal army would soon relinquish the siege, when they heard one
day shouts of joy from the Christian camp and thundering salvos of
artillery. Word was brought at the same time, from the sentinels on
the watch-towers, that a Christian army was approaching down the
valley. Mohammed and his fellow-commanders ascended one of the
highest towers of the walls, and beheld in truth a numerous force in
shining array descending the hills, and heard the distant clangor of
the trumpet and the faint swell of triumphant music.

As the host drew nearer they descried a stately dame magnificently

attired, whom they soon discovered to be the queen. She was riding
on a mule the sumptuous trappings of which were resplendent with
gold and reached to the ground. On her right hand rode her daughter,
the princess Isabella, equally splendid in her array, and on her left
the venerable grand cardinal of Spain. A noble train of ladies and
cavaliers followed, together with pages and esquires, and a
numerous guard of hidalgos of high rank arrayed in superb armor.
When the veteran Mohammed beheld the queen thus arriving in state
to take up her residence in the camp, he shook his head mournfully,
and, turning to his captains, ”Cavaliers,” said he, ”the fate of Baza
is decided.”

The Moorish commanders remained gazing with a mingled feeling of

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grief and admiration at this magnificent pageant, which foreboded
the fall of their city. Some of the troops would have sallied forth on
one of their desperate skirmishes to attack the royal guard, but the
prince Cid Hiaya forbade them; nor would he allow any artillery to
be discharged or any molestation or insult offered; for the character
of Isabella was venerated even by the Moors, and most of the
commanders possessed that high and chivalrous courtesy which
belongs to heroic spirits, for they were among the noblest and
bravest of the Moorish cavaliers.

The inhabitants of Baza eagerly sought every eminence that could

command a view of the plain, and every battlement and tower and
mosque was covered with turbaned heads gazing at the glorious
spectacle. They beheld King Ferdinand issue forth in royal state,
attended by the marques of Cadiz, the master of Santiago, the duke
of Alva, the admiral of Castile, and many other nobles of renown,
while the whole chivalry of the camp, sumptuously arrayed, followed
in his train, and the populace rent the air with acclamations at the
sight of the patriotic queen.

When the sovereigns had met and embraced, the two hosts mingled
together and entered the camp in martial pomp, and the eyes of the
infidel beholders were dazzled by the flash of armor, the splendor
of golden caparisons, the gorgeous display of silks, brocades, and
velvets, of tossing plumes and fluttering banners. There was at the
same time a triumphant sound of drums and trumpets, clarions and
sackbuts, mingled with the sweet melody of the dulcimer, which came
swelling in bursts of harmony that seemed to rise up to the heavens.

Cura de los Palacios, c. 92.

On the arrival of the queen (says the historian Hernando del Pulgar,
who was present at the time) it was marvellous to behold how all at
once the rigor and turbulence of war were softened and the storm of
passion sank into a calm. The sword was sheathed, the crossbow
no longer launched its deadly shafts, and the artillery, which had
hitherto kept up an incessant uproar, now ceased its thundering.
On both sides there was still a vigilant guard kept up; the sentinels
bristled the walls of Baza with their lances, and the guards patrolled
the Christian camp, but there was no sallying forth to skirmish nor
any wanton violence or carnage.

Many particulars of the scenes and occurrences at the siege of

Baza are also furnished in the letters of the learned Peter Martyr,
who was present and an admiring eye-witness.

Prince Cid Hiaya saw by the arrival of the queen that the Christians
were determined to continue the siege, and he knew that the city
would have to capitulate. He had been prodigal of the lives of his
soldiers as long as he thought a military good was to be gained

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by the sacrifice; but he was sparing of their blood in a hopeless
cause, and weary of exasperating the enemy by an obstinate yet
hopeless defence.

At the request of the prince a parley was granted, and the master
commander of Leon, Don Gutierrez de Cardenas, was appointed to
confer with the veteran alcayde Mohammed. They met at an appointed
place, within view of both camp and city, attended by cavaliers of
either army. Their meeting was highly courteous, for they had learnt,
from rough encounters in the field, to admire each other’s prowess.
The commander of Leon in an earnest speech pointed out the
hopelessness of any further defence, and warned Mohammed of the
ills which Malaga had incurred by its obstinacy. ”I promise in the name
of my sovereigns,” said he, ”that if you surrender immediately the
inhabitants shall be treated as subjects and protected in property,
liberty, and religion. If you refuse, you, who are now renowned
as an able and judicious commander, will be chargeable with the
confiscations, captivities, and deaths which may be suffered by the
people of Baza.”

The commander ceased, and Mohammed returned to the city to consult

with his companions. It was evident that all further resistance was
hopeless, but the Moorish commanders felt that a cloud might rest
upon their names should they, of their own discretion, surrender
so important a place without its having sustained an assault. Prince
Cid Hiaya requested permission, therefore, to send an envoy to
Guadix, with a letter to the old monarch, El Zagal, treating of the
surrender: the request was granted, a safe conduct assured to
the envoy, and Mohammed Ibn Hassan departed upon this
momentous mission.

CHAPTER LXXXI.

THE SURRENDER OF BAZA.

The old warrior-king was seated in an inner chamber of the castle

of Guadix, much cast down in spirit and ruminating on his gloomy
fortunes, when an envoy from Baza was announced, and the veteran
alcayde Mohammed stood before him. El Zagal saw disastrous tidings
written in his countenance. ”How fares it with Baza ,” said he,
summoning up his spirits to the question. ”Let this inform thee,”
replied Mohammed, and he delivered into his hands the letter from
the prince Cid Hiaya.

This letter spoke of the desperate situation of Baza, the

impossibility of holding out longer without assistance from El

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Zagal, and the favorable terms held out by the Castilian sovereigns.
Had it been written by any other person, El Zagal might have
received it with distrust and indignation; but he confided in Cid
Hiaya as in a second self, and the words of his letter sank deep in
his heart. When he had finished reading it, he sighed deeply, and
remained for some time lost in thought, with his head drooping upon
his bosom. Recovering himself at length, he called together the
alfaquis and the old men of Guadix and solicited their advice. It
was sign of sore trouble of mind and dejection of heart when El
Zagal sought the advice of others, but his fierce courage was tamed,
for he saw the end of his power approaching. The alfaquis and the
old men did but increase the distraction of his mind by a variety of
counsel, none of which appeared of any avail, for unless Baza were
succored it was impossible that it should hold out; and every
attempt to succor it had proved ineffectual. El Zagal dismissed
his council in despair, and summoned the veteran Mohammed before
him. ”God is great,” exclaimed he; ”there is but one God, and
Mahomet is his prophet! Return to my cousin, Cid Hiaya; tell him it
is out of my power to aid him; he must do as seems to him for the
best. The people of Baza have performed deeds worthy of immortal
fame; I cannot ask them to encounter further ills and perils in
maintaining a hopeless defence.”

The reply of El Zagal determined the fate of the city. Cid Hiaya and
his fellow-commanders capitulated, and were granted the most
favorable terms. The cavaliers and soldiers who had come from other
parts to the defence of the place were permitted to depart with
their arms, horses, and effects. The inhabitants had their choice
either to depart with their property or dwell in the suburbs in the
enjoyment of their religion and laws, taking an oath of fealty to
the sovereigns and paying the same tribute they had paid to the
Moorish kings. The city and citadel were to be delivered up in six
days, within which period the inhabitants were to remove all their
effects; and in the mean time they were to place as hostages fifteen
Moorish youths, sons of the principal inhabitants, in the hands of the
commander of Leon. When Cid Hiaya and the alcayde Mohammed came
to deliver up the hostages, among whom were the sons of the latter,
they paid homage to the king and queen, who received them with the
utmost courtesy and kindness, and ordered magnificent presents to be
given to them, and likewise to the other Moorish cavaliers, consisting
of money, robes, horses, and other things of great value.

The prince Cid Hiaya was so captivated by the grace, the dignity,
and generosity of Isabella and the princely courtesy of Ferdinand that
he vowed never again to draw his sword against such magnanimous
sovereigns. The queen, charmed with his gallant bearing and his
animated professions of devotion, assured him that, having him on
her side, she already considered the war terminated which had
desolated the kingdom of Granada.

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 Mighty and irresistible are words of praise from the lips of
sovereigns. Cid Hiaya was entirely subdued by this fair speech from
the illustrious Isabella. His heart burned with a sudden flame of
loyalty toward the sovereigns. He begged to be enrolled amongst the
most devoted of their subjects, and in the fervor of his sudden zeal
engaged not merely to dedicate his sword to their service, but to
exert all his influence, which was great, in persuading his cousin,
Muley Abdallah el Zagal, to surrender the cities of Guadix and
Almeria and to give up all further hostilities. Nay, so powerful was
the effect produced upon his mind by his conversation with the
sovereigns that it extended even to his religion; for he became
immediately enlightened as to the heathenish abominations of the
vile sect of Mahomet, and struck with the truths of Christianity as
illustrated by such powerful monarchs. He consented, therefore, to
be baptized and to be gathered into the fold of the Church. The
pious Agapida indulges in a triumphant strain of exultation on
the sudden and surprising conversion of this princely infidel: he
considers it one of the greatest achievements of the Catholic
sovereigns, and indeed one of the marvellous occurrences of this
holy war. ”But it is given to saints and pious monarchs,” says he,
”to work miracles in the cause of the faith; and such did the most
Catholic Ferdinand in the conversion of the prince Cid Hiaya.”

Some of the Arabian writers have sought to lessen the wonder of

this miracle by alluding to great revenues granted to the prince and
his heirs by the Castilian monarchs, together with a territory in
Marchena, with towns, lands, and vassals; but in this (says Agapida)
we only see a wise precaution of King Ferdinand to clinch and secure
the conversion of his proselyte. The policy of the Catholic monarch
was at all times equal to his piety. Instead also of vaunting of this
great conversion and making a public parade of the entry of the
prince into the Church, King Ferdinand ordered that the baptism
should be performed in private and kept a profound secret. He
feared that Cid Hiaya might otherwise be denounced as an
apostate and abhorred and abandoned by the Moors, and thus
his influence destroyed in bringing the war to a speedy termination.

Conde, tom. 3, cap. 40.

The veteran Mohammed Ibn Hassan was likewise won by the magnanimity
and munificence of the Castilian sovereigns, and entreated to be
received into their service; and his example was followed by many
other Moorish cavaliers, whose services were generously accepted
and magnificently rewarded.

Thus; after a siege of six months and twenty days, the city of Baza
surrendered on the 4th of December, 1489, the festival of the
glorious Santa Barbara, who is said in the Catholic calendar to
preside over thunder and lightning, fire and gunpowder, and all
kinds of combustious explosions. The king and queen made their

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solemn and triumphant entry on the following day, and the public joy
was heightened by the sight of upward of five hundred Christian
captives, men, women, and children, delivered from the Moorish
dungeons.

The loss of the Christians in this siege amounted to twenty thousand

men, of whom seventeen thousand died of disease, and not a few of
mere cold–a kind of death (says the historian Mariana) peculiarly
uncomfortable; but (adds the venerable Jesuit) as these latter were
chiefly people of ignoble rank, baggage-carriers and such-like, the
loss was not of great importance.

The surrender of Baza was followed by that of Almunecar, Tavernas,

and most of the fortresses of the Alpuxarras mountains; the
inhabitants hoped by prompt and voluntary submission to secure
equally favorable terms with those granted to the captured city,
and the alcaydes to receive similar rewards to those lavished on
its commanders; nor were either of them disappointed. The
inhabitants were permitted to remain as mudexares in the quiet
enjoyment of their property and religion; and as to the alcaydes,
when they came to the camp to render up their charges they were
received by Ferdinand with distinguished favor, and rewarded with
presents of money in proportion to the importance of the places they
had commanded. Care was taken by the politic monarch, however,
not to wound their pride nor shock their delicacy; so these sums
were paid under color of arrears due to them for their services to
the former government. Ferdinand had conquered by dint of sword
in the earlier part of the war, but he found gold as potent as steel
in this campaign of Baza.

With several of these mercenary chieftains came one named Ali Aben
Fahar, a seasoned warrior who had held many important commands.
He was a Moor of a lofty, stern, and melancholy aspect, and stood
silent and apart while his companions surrendered their several
fortresses and retired laden with treasure. When it came to his
turn to speak, he addressed the sovereigns with the frankness
of a soldier, but with the tone of dejection and despair.

”I am a Moor,” said he, ”and of Moorish lineage, and am alcayde of

the fair towns and castles of Purchena and Paterna. These were
entrusted to me to defend, but those who should have stood by me
have lost all strength and courage and seek only for security. These
fortresses, therefore, most potent sovereigns, are yours whenever
you will send to take possession of them.”

Large sums of gold were immediately ordered by Ferdinand to be

delivered to the alcayde as a recompense for so important a
surrender. The Moor, however, put back the gift with a firm and
dignified demeanor. ”I came not,” said he, ”to sell what is not
mine, but to yield what fortune has made yours; and Your Majesties

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may rest assured that had I been properly seconded death would
have been the price at which I would have sold my fortresses, and
not the gold you offer me.”

The Castilian monarchs were struck with the lofty and loyal spirit
of the Moor, and desired to engage a man of such fidelity in their
service; but the proud Moslem could not be induced to serve the
enemies of his nation and his faith.

”Is there nothing, then,” said Queen Isabella, ”that we can do to

gratify thee, and to prove to thee our regard?”–”Yes,” replied the
Moor; ”I have left behind me, in the towns and valleys which I have
surrendered, many of my unhappy countrymen, with their wives and
children, who cannot tear themselves from their native abodes. Give
me your royal word that they shall be protected in the peaceable
enjoyment of their religion and their homes.”–”We promise it,” said
Isabella; ”they shall dwell in peace and security. But for thyself–
what dost thou ask for thyself?”–”Nothing,” replied Ali, ”but
permission to pass unmolested with my horses and effects into Africa.”

The Castilian monarchs would fain have forced upon him gold and
silver and superb horses richly caparisoned, not as rewards, but as
marks of personal esteem; but Ali Aben Fahar declined all presents
and distinctions, as if he thought it criminal to flourish individually
during a time of public distress, and disdained all prosperity that
seemed to grow out of the ruins of his country.

Having received a royal passport, he gathered together his horses

and servants, his armor and weapons, and all his warlike effects,
bade adieu to his weeping countrymen with a brow stamped with
anguish, but without shedding a tear, and, mounting his Barbary
steed, turned his back upon the delightful valleys of his conquered
country, departing on his lonely way to seek a soldier’s fortune
amidst the burning sands of Africa.

Pulgar, part 3, cap. 124; Garibay, lib. 40, cap. 40; Cura de
los Palacios.

CHAPTER LXXXII.

SUBMISSION OF EL ZAGAL TO THE CASTILIAN SOVEREIGNS.

Evil tidings never fail by the way through lack of messengers: they
are wafted on the wings of the wind, and it is as if the very birds
of the air would bear them to the ear of the unfortunate. The old
king El Zagal buried himself in the recesses of his castle to hide

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himself from the light of day, which no longer shone prosperously
upon him, but every hour brought missives thundering at the gate
with the tale of some new disaster. Fortress after fortress had laid
its keys at the feet of the Christian sovereigns: strip after strip
of warrior mountain and green fruitful valleys was torn from his
domains and added to the territories of the conquerors. Scarcely a
remnant remained to him, except a tract of the Alpuxarras and the
noble cities of Guadix and Almeria. No one any longer stood in awe
of the fierce old monarch; the terror of his frown had declined with
his power. He had arrived at that state of adversity when a man’s
friends feel emboldened to tell him hard truths and to give him
unpalatable advice, and when his spirit is bowed down to listen
quietly if not meekly.

El Zagal was seated on his divan, his whole spirit absorbed in

rumination on the transitory nature of human glory, when his
kinsman and brother-in-law, the prince Cid Hiaya, was announced.
That illustrious convert to the true faith and the interests of the
conquerors of his country had hastened to Guadix with all the
fervor of a new proselyte, eager to prove his zeal in the service
of Heaven and the Castilian sovereigns by persuading the old
monarch to abjure his faith and surrender his possessions.

Cid Hiaya still bore the guise of a Moslem, for his conversion was
as yet a secret. The stern heart of El Zagal softened at beholding
the face of a kinsman in this hour of adversity. He folded his
cousin to his bosom, and gave thanks to Allah that amidst all his
troubles he had still a friend and counsellor on whom he might rely.

Cid Hiaya soon entered upon the real purpose of his mission. He
represented to El Zagal the desperate state of affairs and the
irretrievable decline of Moorish power in the kingdom of Granada.
”Fate,” said he, ”is against our arms; our ruin is written in the
heavens. Remember the prediction of the astrologers at the birth of
your nephew Boabdil. We hoped that their prediction was accomplished
by his capture at Lucena; but it is now evident that the stars
portended not a temporary and passing reverse of the kingdom, but
a final overthrow. The constant succession of disasters which have
attended our efforts show that the sceptre of Granada is doomed to
pass into the hands of the Christian monarchs. Such,” concluded the
prince emphatically, and with a profound and pious reverence,–”such
is the almighty will of God.”

El Zagal listened to these words in mute attention, without so much

as moving a muscle of his face or winking an eyelid. When the prince
had concluded he remained for a long time silent and pensive; at
length, heaving a profound sigh from the very bottom of his heart,
”Alahuma subahana hu!” exclaimed he–”the will of God be done!
Yes, my cousin, it is but too evident that such is the will of Allah; and
what he wills he fails not to accomplish. Had not he decreed the

260
fall of Granada, this arm and this scimetar would have maintained it.”

Conde, tom. 3, c. 40.

”What then remains,” said Cid Hiaya, ”but to draw the most advantage
from the wreck of empire left to you? To persist in a war is to bring
complete desolation upon the land and ruin and death upon its
faithful inhabitants. Are you disposed to yield up your remaining
towns to your nephew El Chico, that they may augment his power
and derive protection from his alliance with the Christian sovereigns?”

The eye of El Zagal flashed fire at this suggestion. He grasped the

hilt of his scimetar and gnashed his teeth in fury. ”Never,” cried
he, ”will I make terms with that recreant and slave. Sooner would I
see the banners of the Christian monarchs floating above my walls
than they should add to the possessions of the vassal Boabdil!”

Cid Hiaya immediately seized upon this idea, and urged El Zagal
to make a frank and entire surrender. ”Trust,” said he, ”to the
magnanimity of the Castilian sovereigns; they will doubtless grant
you high and honorable terms. It is better to yield to them as
friends what they must infallibly and before long wrest from you
as enemies; for such, my cousin, is the almighty will of God.”

”Alahuma subahana hu!” repeated El Zagal–”the will of God be

done!” So the old monarch bowed his haughty neck and agreed
to surrender his territories to the enemies of his faith, rather than
suffer them to augment the Moslem power under the sway of his
nephew.

Cid Hiaya now returned to Baza, empowered by El Zagal to treat on

his behalf with the Christian sovereigns. The prince felt a species
of exultation as he expatiated on the rich relics of empire which
he was authorized to cede. There was a great part of that line of
mountains extending from the metropolis to the Mediterranean Sea,
with their series of beautiful green valleys like precious emeralds
set in a golden chain. Above all, there were Guadix and Almeria,
two of the most inestimable jewels in the crown of Granada.

In return for these possessions and for the claim of El Zagal to

the rest of the kingdom the sovereigns received him into their
friendship and alliance, and gave him in perpetual inheritance
the territory of Andarax and the valley of Alhaurin in the
Alpuxarras, with the fourth part of the salinas or salt-pits of
Malaha. He was to enjoy the title of king of Andarax, with two
thousand mudexares, or conquered Moors, for subjects, and
his revenues were to be made up to the sum of four millions of
maravedis. All these he was to hold as a vassal of the Castilian
Crown.

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 These arrangements being made, Cid Hiaya returned with them to
Muley Abdallah, and it was concerted that the ceremony of surrender
and homage should take place at the city of Almeria.

On the 17th of December, King Ferdinand departed for that city.

Cid Hiaya and his principal officers, incorporated with a division
commanded by the count de Tendilla, marched in the van-guard.
The king was with the centre of the army, and the queen with the
rear-guard. In this martial state Ferdinand passed by several of the
newly-acquired towns, exulting in these trophies of his policy rather
than his valor. In traversing the mountainous region which extends
toward the Mediterranean the army suffered exceedingly from raging
vandavales, or south-west gales, accompanied by snow-storms.
Several of the soldiers and many horses and beasts perished with
the cold. One of the divisions under the marques of Cadiz found it
impossible to traverse in one day the frozen summits of Filabres,
and had to pass the night in those inclement regions. The marques
caused two immense fires to be kindled in the vicinity of his
encampment to guide and enlighten those lost and wandering
among the defiles, and to warm those who were benumbed and
almost frozen.

The king halted at Tavernas, to collect his scattered troops and give
them time to breathe after the hardships of the mountains. The
queen was travelling a day’s march in the rear.

On the 21st of December the king arrived and encamped in the

vicinity of Almeria. Understanding that El Zagal was sallying forth
to pay him homage according to appointment, he mounted on
horseback and rode forth to receive him, attended by Don Alonso de
Cardenas, master of Santiago, on his right hand, and the marques of
Cadiz on his left, and despatched in the advance Don Gutierrez de
Cardenas, commander of Leon, and other cavaliers to meet and form
an honorable escort to the Moorish monarch. With this escort went
that curious eye-witness, Peter Martyr, from whom we have many of
these particulars.

El Zagal was accompanied by twelve cavaliers on horseback, among

whom was his cousin, the prince Cid Hiaya (who had no doubt joined
him from the Spanish camp), and the brave Reduan Vanegas. Peter
Martyr declares that the appearance of El Zagal touched him with
compassion, for, though a ”lawless barbarian, he was a king and
had given signal proofs of heroism.” The historian Palencia gives
us a particular description of his appearance. He was, says he, of
elevated stature and well proportioned, neither robust nor meagre;
the natural fairness of his countenance was increased by an extreme
paleness which gave it a melancholy expression. His aspect was
grave; his movements were quiet, noble, and dignified. He was
modestly attired in a garb of mourning–a sayo, or loose surcoat,
of dark cloth, a simple albornoz or Moorish mantle, and a turban

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of dazzling whiteness.

On being met by the commander, Gutierrez de Cardenas, El Zagal

saluted him courteously, as well as the cavaliers who accompanied
him, and rode on, conversing with him through the medium of
interpreters. Beholding King Ferdinand and his splendid train at
a distance, he alighted and advanced toward him on foot. The
punctilious Ferdinand, supposing this voluntary act of humiliation
had been imposed by Don Gutierrez, told that cavalier, with some
asperity, that it was an act of great discourtesy to cause a
vanquished king to alight before another king who was victorious.
At the same time he made him signs to remount his horse and place
himself by his side. El Zagal, persisting in his act of homage,
offered to kiss the king’s hand, but, being prevented by that
monarch, he kissed his own hand, as the Moorish cavaliers were
accustomed to do in presence of their sovereigns, and accompanied
the gesture by a few words expressive of obedience and fealty.
Ferdinand replied in a gracious and amiable manner, and, causing
him to remount and place himself on his left hand, they proceeded,
followed by the whole train, to the royal pavilion pitched in the
most conspicuous part of the camp.

There a banquet was served up to the two kings according to the

rigorous style and etiquette of the Spanish court. They were seated
in two chairs of state under the same canopy, El Zagal on the left
hand of Ferdinand. The cavaliers and courtiers admitted to the royal
pavilion remained standing. The count de Tendilla served the viands
to King Ferdinand in golden dishes, and the count Cifuentes gave him
to drink out of cups of the same precious metal; Don Alvaro Bazan
and Garcilasso de la Vega performed the same offices, in similar
style and with vessels of equal richness, to the Moorish monarch.

The banquet ended, El Zagal took courteous leave of Ferdinand, and

sallied from the pavilion attended by the cavaliers who had been
present. Each of these now made himself known to the old monarch
by his name, title, or dignity, and each received an affable gesture in
reply. They would all have escorted the old king back to the gates
of Almeria, but he insisted on their remaining in the camp, and with
difficulty could be persuaded upon to accept the honorable attendance
of the marques of Villena, the commander, Don Gutierrez de Cardenas,
the count de Cifuentes, and Don Luis Puerto Carrero.

On the following morning (22d December) the troops were all drawn
out in splendid array in front of the camp, awaiting the signal of the
formal surrender of the city. This was given at mid-day, when
the gates were thrown open and a corps marched in, led by Don
Gutierrez de Cardenas, who had been appointed governor. In a little
while the gleam of Christian warriors was seen on the walls and
bulwarks; the blessed cross was planted in place of the standard of
Mahomet, and the banner of the sovereigns floated triumphantly above

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the Alcazar. At the same time a numerous deputation of alfaquis and
the noblest and wealthiest inhabitants of the place sallied forth to
pay homage to King Ferdinand.

On the 23d of December the king himself entered the city with grand
military and religious pomp, and repaired to the mosque of the castle,
which had previously been purified and sanctified and converted into
a Christian temple: here grand mass was performed in solemn
celebration of this great triumph of the faith.

These ceremonies were scarcely completed when joyful notice was

given of the approach of the queen Isabella with the rear-guard of
the army. She came accompanied by the princess Isabella, and
attended by her ghostly counsellor the cardinal Mendoza and her
confessor Talavera. The king sallied forth to meet her, accompanied
by El Zagal, and it is said the reception of the latter by the queen
was characterized by the deference and considerate delicacy which
belonged to her magnanimous nature.

The surrender of Almeria was followed by that of Almunecar,

Salobrena, and other fortified places of the coast and the interior,
and detachments of Christian troops took quiet possession of the
Alpuxarras mountains and their secluded and fertile valleys.

Cura de los Palacios, cap. 93, 94; Pulgar, Cron., part 3, cap. 124;
Garibay, Comp. Hist., lib. 18, cap. 37, etc. etc.

CHAPTER LXXXIII.

EVENTS AT GRANADA SUBSEQUENT TO THE SUBMISSION OF

EL ZAGAL.

Who can tell when to rejoice in this fluctuating world? Every wave
of prosperity has its reacting surge, and we are often overwhelmed
by the very billow on which we thought to be wafted into the haven
of our hopes. When Yusef Aben Comixa, the vizier of Boabdil,
surnamed El Chico, entered the royal saloon of the Alhambra and
announced the capitulation of El Zagal, the heart of the youthful
monarch leaped for joy. His great wish was accomplished; his uncle
was defeated and dethroned, and he reigned without a rival, sole
monarch of Granada. At length he was about to enjoy the fruits of
his humiliation and vassalage. He beheld his throne fortified by the
friendship and alliance of the Castilian monarchs; there could be no
question, therefore, of its stability. ”Allah Akbar! God is great!”
exclaimed he. ”Rejoice with me, O Yusef; the stars have ceased
their persecution. Henceforth let no man call me El Zogoybi.”

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 In the first moment of his exultation Boabdil would have ordered
public rejoicings, but the shrewd Yusef shook his head. ”The tempest
has ceased from one point of the heavens,” said he, ”but it may
begin to rage from another. A troubled sea is beneath us, and we
are surrounded by rocks and quicksands: let my lord the king defer
rejoicings until all has settled into a calm.” El Chico, however,
could not remain tranquil in this day of exultation: he ordered his
steed to be sumptuously caparisoned, and, issuing out of the gate of
the Alhambra, descended, with glittering retinue, along the avenue
of trees and fountains, into the city to receive the acclamations of
the populace. As he entered the great square of the Vivarrambla he
beheld crowds of people in violent agitation, but as he approached
what was his surprise to hear groans and murmurs and bursts of
execration! The tidings had spread through Granada that Muley
Abdallah el Zagal had been driven to capitulate, and that all his
territories had fallen into the hands of the Christians. No one
had inquired into the particulars, but all Granada had been thrown
into a ferment of grief and indignation. In the heat of the moment
old Muley was extolled to the skies as a patriot prince who had
fought to the last for the salvation of his country–as a mirror of
monarchs, scorning to compromise the dignity of his crown by any
act of vassalage. Boabdil, on the contrary, had looked on exultingly
at the hopeless yet heroic struggle of his uncle; he had rejoiced in
the defeat of the faithful and the triumph of unbelievers; he had
aided in the dismemberment and downfall of the empire. When they
beheld him riding forth in gorgeous state on what they considered a
day of humiliation for all true Moslems, they could not contain their
rage, and amidst the clamors that met his ears Boabdil more than
once heard his name coupled with the epithets of traitor and renegado.

Shocked and discomfited, the youthful monarch returned in confusion

to the Alhambra, shut himself up within its innermost courts, and
remained a kind of voluntary prisoner until the first burst of popular
feeling should subside. He trusted that it would soon pass away–
that the people would be too sensible of the sweets of peace to
repine at the price at which it was obtained; at any rate, he trusted
to the strong friendship of the Christian sovereigns to secure him
even against the factions of his subjects.

The first missives from the politic Ferdinand showed Boabdil the
value of his friendship. The Christian monarch reminded him of a
treaty which he had made when captured in the city of Loxa. By
this he had engaged that in case the Catholic sovereigns should
capture the cities of Guadix, Baza, and Almeria he would surrender
Granada into their hands within a limited time, and accept in
exchange certain Moorish towns to be held by him as their vassal.
Guadix, Baza, and Almeria had now fallen; Ferdinand called upon
him, therefore, to fulfil his engagement.

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 If the unfortunate Boabdil had possessed the will, he had not the
power to comply with this demand. He was shut up in the Alhambra,
while a tempest of popular fury raged without. Granada was thronged
by refugees from the captured towns, many of them disbanded
soldiers, and others broken-down citizens rendered fierce and
desperate by ruin. All railed at him as the real cause of their
misfortunes. How was he to venture forth in such a storm? Above
all, how was he to talk to such men of surrender? In his reply to
Ferdinand he represented the difficulties of his situation, and that,
so far from having control over his subjects, his very life was in
danger from their turbulence. He entreated the king, therefore, to
rest satisfied for the present with his recent conquests, promising
that should he be able to regain full empire over his capital and
its inhabitants, it would be but to rule over them as vassal to the
Castilian Crown.

Ferdinand was not to be satisfied with such a reply. The time was
come to bring his game of policy to a close, and to consummate
his conquest by seating himself on the throne of the Alhambra.
Professing to consider Boabdil as a faithless ally who had broken
his plighted word, he discarded him from his friendship, and
addressed a second letter, not to him, but to the commanders and
council of the city. He demanded a complete surrender of the place,
with all the arms in the possession either of the citizens or of others
who had recently taken refuge within its walls. If the inhabitants
should comply with this summons, he promised them the indulgent
terms granted to Baza, Guadix, and Almeria; if they should refuse,
he threatened them with the fate of Malaga.

Cura de los Palacios, cap. 96.

This message produced the greatest commotion in the city. The

inhabitants of the Alcaiceria, that busy hive of traffic, and all others
who had tasted the sweets of gainful commerce during the late
cessation of hostilities, were for securing their golden advantages
by timely submission: others, who had wives and children, looked
on them with tenderness and solicitude, and dreaded by resistance
to bring upon them the horrors of slavery.

On the other hand, Granada was crowded with men from all parts,
ruined by the war, exasperated by their sufferings, and eager only
for revenge–with others who had been reared amidst hostilities, who
had lived by the sword, and whom a return of peace would leave
without home or hope. Besides these, there were others no less fiery
and warlike in disposition, but animated by a loftier spirit. These
were valiant and haughty cavaliers of the old chivalrous lineages,
who had inherited a deadly hatred to the Christians from a long line
of warrior ancestors, and to whom the idea was worse than death
that Granada–illustrious Granada, for ages the seat of Moorish
grandeur and delight–should become the abode of unbelievers.

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 Among these cavaliers the most eminent was Muza Abul Gazan. He
was of royal lineage, of a proud and generous nature, and a form
combining manly strength and beauty. None could excel him in the
management of the horse and dextrous use of all kinds of weapons:
his gracefulness and skill in the tourney were the theme of praise
among the Moorish dames, and his prowess in the field had made him
the terror of the enemy. He had long repined at the timid policy of
Boabdil, and endeavored to counteract its enervating effects and
keep alive the martial spirit of Granada. For this reason he had
promoted jousts and tiltings with the reed, and all those other
public games which bear the semblance of war. He endeavored
also to inculcate into his companions-in-arms those high chivalrous
sentiments which lead to valiant and magnanimous deeds, but which
are apt to decline with the independence of a nation. The generous
efforts of Muza had been in a great measure successful: he was the
idol of the youthful cavaliers; they regarded him as a mirror of
chivalry and endeavored to imitate his lofty and heroic virtues.

When Muza heard the demand of Ferdinand that they should deliver
up their arms, his eye flashed fire. ”Does the Christian king think
that we are old men,” said he, ”and that staffs will suffice us? or
that we are women, and can be contented with distaffs? Let him know
that a Moor is born to the spear and scimetar–to career the steed,
bend the bow, and launch the javelin: deprive him of these, and you
deprive him of his nature. If the Christian king desires our arms,
let him come and win them, but let him win them dearly. For my part,
sweeter were a grave beneath the walls of Granada, on the spot I had
died to defend, than the richest couch within her palaces earned by
submission to the unbeliever.”

The words of Muza were received with enthusiastic shouts by the

warlike part of the populace. Granada once more awoke, as a warrior
shaking off a disgraceful lethargy. The commanders and council
partook of the public excitement, and despatched a reply to the
Christian sovereigns, declaring that they would suffer death rather
than surrender their city.

CHAPTER LXXXIV.

HOW FERDINAND TURNED HIS HOSTLITIES AGAINST THE CITY

OF GRANADA.

When King Ferdinand received the defiance of the Moors, he made

preparations for bitter hostilities. The winter season did not admit
of an immediate campaign; he contented himself, therefore, with

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throwing strong garrisons into all his towns and fortresses in the
neighborhood of Granada, and gave the command of all the frontier
of Jaen to Inigo Lopez de Mendoza, count of Tendilla, who had shown
such consummate vigilance and address in maintaining the dangerous
post of Alhama. This renowned veteran established his head-quarters
in the mountain-city of Alcala la Real, within eight leagues of the
city of Granada and commanding the most important passes of that
rugged frontier.

In the mean time, Granada resounded with the stir of war. The
chivalry of the nation had again control of its councils, and the
populace, having once more resumed their weapons, were anxious to
wipe out the disgrace of their late passive submission by signal and
daring exploits.

Muza Abul Gazan was the soul of action. He commanded the cavalry,
which he had disciplined with uncommon skill; he was surrounded by
the noblest youths of Granada, who had caught his own generous
and martial fire and panted for the field, while the common soldiers,
devoted to his person, were ready to follow him in the most
desperate enterprises. He did not allow their courage to cool for
want of action. The gates of Granada once more poured forth legions
of light scouring cavalry, which skirred the country up to the very
gates of the Christian fortresses, sweeping off flocks and herds.
The name of Muza became formidable throughout the frontier;
he had many encounters with the enemy in the rough passes of
the mountains, in which the superior lightness and dexterity of his
cavalry gave him the advantage. The sight of his glistening legion
returning across the Vega with long cavalgadas of booty was hailed
by the Moors as a revival of their ancient triumphs; but when they
beheld Christian banners borne into their gates as trophies, the
exultation of the light-minded populace was beyond all bounds.

The winter passed away, the spring advanced, yet Ferdinand delayed
to take the field. He knew the city of Granada to be too strong and
populous to be taken by assault, and too full of provisions to be
speedily reduced by siege. ”We must have patience and perseverance,”
said the politic monarch; ”by ravaging the country this year we
shall produce a scarcity the next, and then the city may be invested
with effect.”

An interval of peace, aided by the quick vegetation of a prolific

soil and happy climate, had restored the Vega to all its luxuriance
and beauty; the green pastures on the borders of the Xenil were
covered with flocks and herds; the blooming orchards gave promise
of abundant fruit, and the open plain was waving with ripening corn.
The time was at hand to put in the sickle and reap the golden harvest,
when suddenly a torrent of war came sweeping down from the
mountains, and Ferdinand, with an army of five thousand horse and
twenty thousand foot, appeared before the walls of Granada. He

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had left the queen and princess at the fortress of Moclin, and came
attended by the duke of Medina Sidonia, the marques of Cadiz, the
marques de Villena, the counts of Urena and Cabra, Don Alonso de
Aguilar, and other renowned cavaliers. On this occasion he for the
first time led his son, Prince Juan, into the field, and bestowed
upon him the dignity of knighthood. As if to stimulate him to grand
achievements, the ceremony took place on the banks of the grand
canal almost beneath the embattled walls of that warlike city, the
object of such daring enterprises, and in the midst of that famous
Vega, the field of so many chivalrous exploits. Above them shone
resplendent the red towers of the Alhambra, rising from amidst
delicious groves, with the standard of Mahomet waving defiance
to the Christian arms.

The duke of Medina Sidonia and Roderigo Ponce de Leon, marques of

Cadiz, were sponsors, and all the chivalry of the camp was assembled
on the occasion. The prince, after he was knighted, bestowed the
same honor on several youthful cavaliers of high rank, just entering,
like himself, on the career of arms.

Ferdinand did not loiter in carrying his desolating plans into

execution. He detached parties in every direction to lay waste the
country: villages were sacked, burnt, and destroyed, and the lovely
Vega was once more laid waste with fire and sword. The ravage was
carried so close to Granada that the city was wrapped in the smoke
of its gardens and hamlets. The dismal cloud rolled up the hill and
hung about the towers of the Alhambra, where the unfortunate
Boabdil still remained shut up from the indignation of his subjects.
The hapless monarch smote his breast as he looked down from
his mountain-palace on the desolation effected by his late ally.
He dared not even show himself in arms among the populace, for
they cursed him as the cause of the miseries once more brought to
their doors.

The Moors, however, did not suffer the Christians to carry on their
ravages unmolested, as in former years. Muza incited them to
incessant sallies. He divided his cavalry into small squadrons, each
led by a daring commander. They were taught to hover round the
Christian camp; to harass it from various and opposite quarters,
cutting off convoys and straggling detachments; to waylay the
army in its ravaging expeditions, lurking among rocks and passes
of the mountains or in hollows and thickets of the plain, and
practising a thousand stratagems and surprises.

The Christian army had one day spread itself out rather unguardedly
in its foraging about the Vega. As the troops commanded by the
marques of Villena approached the skirts of the mountains, they
beheld a number of Moorish peasants hastily driving a herd of cattle
into a narrow glen. The soldiers, eager for booty, pressed in
pursuit of them. Scarcely had they entered the glen when shouts

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arose from every side, and they were furiously attacked by an
ambuscade of horse and foot. Some of the Christians took to flight;
others stood their ground and fought valiantly. The Moors had the
vantage-ground; some showered darts and arrows from the cliffs
of the rocks, others fought hand to hand on the plain, while their
cavalry carried havoc and confusion into the midst of the Christian
forces.

The marques de Villena, with his brother, Don Alonso de Pacheco,

at the first onset of the Moors spurred into the hottest of the fight.
They had scarce entered when Don Alonso was struck lifeless from
his horse before the eyes of his brother. Estevan Luzon, a gallant
captain, fell fighting bravely by the side of the marques, who
remained, with his chamberlain Soler and a handful of knights,
surrounded by the enemy. Several cavaliers from other parts of the
army hastened to their assistance, when King Ferdinand, seeing that
the Moors had the vantage-ground and that the Christians were
suffering severely, gave signal for retreat. The marques obeyed
slowly and reluctantly, for his heart was full of grief and rage at
the death of his brother. As he was retiring he beheld his faithful
chamberlain Soler defending himself valiantly against six Moors.
The marques turned and rushed to his rescue; he killed two of the
enemy with his own hand and put the rest to flight. One of the
Moors, however, in retreating, rose in his stirrups, and, hurling
his lance at the marques, wounded him in the right arm and
crippled him for life.

In consequence of this wound the marques was ever after obliged

to write his signature with his left hand, though capable of managing
his lance with his right. The queen one day demanded of him why
he had adventured his life for that of a domestic? ”Does not Your
Majesty think,” replied he, ”that I ought to risk one life for him who
would have adventured three for me had he possessed them?” The
queen was charmed with the magnanimity of the reply, and often
quoted the marques as setting an heroic example to the chivalry of
the age.–Mariana, lib. 25, c. 15.

Such was one of the many ambuscadoes concerted by Muza; nor did
he hesitate at times to present a bold front to the Christian forces
and defy them in the open field. Ferdinand soon perceived, however,
that the Moors seldom provoked a battle without having the advantage
of the ground, and that, though the Christians generally appeared to
have the victory, they suffered the greatest loss; for retreating was
a part of the Moorish system by which they would draw their pursuers
into confusion, and then turn upon them with a more violent and fatal
attack. He commanded his captains, therefore, to decline all challenges
to skirmish, and pursue a secure system of destruction, ravaging the
country and doing all possible injury to the enemy with slight risk to
themselves.

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CHAPTER LXXXV.

THE FATE OF THE CASTLE OF ROMA.

About two leagues from Granada, on an eminence commanding an

extensive view of the Vega, stood the strong Moorish castle of Roma.
Hither the neighboring peasantry drove their flocks and herds and
hurried with their most precious effects on the irruption of a
Christian force, and any foraging or skirmishing party from Granada,
on being intercepted in their return, threw themselves into Roma,
manned its embattled towers, and set the enemy at defiance. The
garrison were accustomed to have parties of Moors clattering up to
their gates so hotly pursued that there was barely time to throw
open the portal, receive them within, and shut out their pursuers;
while the Christian cavaliers had many a time reined up their
panting steeds at the very entrance of the barbican, and retired,
cursing the strong walls of Roma that robbed them of their prey.

The late ravages of Ferdinand and the continual skirmishings in the

Vega had roused the vigilance of the castle. One morning early, as
the sentinels kept watch upon the battlements, they beheld a cloud
of dust advancing rapidly from a distance: turbans and Moorish
weapons soon caught their eyes, and as the whole approached they
descried a drove of cattle urged on in great haste and convoyed by
one hundred and fifty Moors, who led with them two Christian
captives in chains.

When the cavalgada arrived near the castle, a Moorish cavalier

of noble and commanding mien and splendid attire rode up to the
foot of the tower and entreated admittance. He stated that they
were returning with rich booty from a foray into the lands of the
Christians, but that the enemy was on their traces, and they feared
to be overtaken before they could reach Granada. The sentinels
descended in all haste and flung open the gates. The long cavalgada
defiled into the courts of the castle, which were soon filled with
bleating and lowing flocks and herds, with neighing and stamping
steeds, and with fierce-looking Moors from the mountains. The
cavalier who had asked admission was the chief of the party; he
was somewhat advanced in life, of a lofty and gallant bearing, and
had with him a son, a young man of great spirit and fire. Close by
them followed the two Christian captives, with looks cast down
and disconsolate.

The soldiers of the garrison had roused themselves from their sleep,
and were busily occupied attending to the cattle which crowded the
courts, while the foraging party distributed themselves about the
castle to seek refreshment or repose. Suddenly a shout arose that
was echoed from courtyard and hall and battlement. The garrison,

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astonished and bewildered, would have rushed to their arms, but
found themselves, almost before they could make resistance,
completely in the power of an enemy.

The pretended foraging party consisted of mudexares, or Moors

tributary to the Christians, and the commanders were the prince Cid
Hiaya and his son Alnayar. They had hastened from the mountains with
this small force to aid the Catholic sovereigns during the summer’s
campaign, and had concerted to surprise this important castle and
present it to King Ferdinand as a gage of their faith and the first
fruits of their devotion.

The politic monarch overwhelmed his new converts and allies with
favors and distinctions in return for this important acquisition,
but he took care to despatch a strong force of veteran and genuine
Christian troops to man the fortress.

As to the Moors who had composed the garrison, Cid Hiaya

remembered that they were his countrymen, and could not prevail
upon himself to deliver them into Christian bondage. He set them
at liberty, and permitted them to repair to Granada–”a proof,” says
the pious Agapida, ”that his conversion was not entirely consummated,
but that there were still some lingerings of the infidel in his heart.”
His lenity was far from procuring him indulgence in the opinions of
his countrymen; on the contrary, the inhabitants of Granada, when
they learnt from the liberated garrison the stratagem by which Roma
had been captured, cursed Cid Hiaya for a traitor, and the garrison
joined in the malediction.

Pulgar, Cron., part 3, cap. 130; Cura de los Palacios, cap. 90.

But the indignation of the people of Granada was destined to be

roused to tenfold violence. The old warrior Muley Abdallah el Zagal
had retired to his little mountain-territory, and for a short time
endeavored to console himself with his petty title of king of
Andarax. He soon grew impatient, however, of the quiet and inaction
of his mimic kingdom. His fierce spirit was exasperated by being
shut up within such narrow limits, and his hatred rose to downright
fury against Boabdil, whom he considered as the cause of his
downfall. When tidings were brought him that King Ferdinand was
laying waste the Vega, he took a sudden resolution. Assembling the
whole disposable force of his kingdom, which amounted but to two
hundred men, he descended from the Alpuxarras and sought the
Christian camp, content to serve as a vassal the enemy of his faith
and his nation, so that he might see Granada wrested from the sway
of his nephew.

In his blind passion the old wrathful monarch injured his cause and
strengthened the cause of his adversary. The Moors of Granada
had been clamorous in his praise, extolling him as a victim to his

272
patriotism, and had refused to believe all reports of his treaty
with the Christians; but when they beheld from the walls of the
city his banner mingling with the banners of the unbelievers and
arrayed against his late people and the capital he had commanded,
they broke forth into revilings and heaped curses upon his name.

Their next emotion, of course, was in favor of Boabdil. They

gathered under the walls of the Alhambra and hailed him as their
only hope, as the sole dependence of the country. Boabdil could
scarcely believe his senses when he heard his name mingled with
praises and greeted with acclamations. Encouraged by this unexpected
gleam of popularity, he ventured forth from his retreat and was
received with rapture. All his past errors were attributed to the
hardships of his fortune and the usurpation of his tyrant uncle, and
whatever breath the populace could spare from uttering curses on
El Zagal was expended in shouts in honor of El Chico.

CHAPTER LXXXVI.

HOW BOABDIL EL CHICO TOOK THE FIELD, AND HIS EXPEDITION

AGAINST ALHENDIN.

For thirty days had the Vega been overrun by the Christian forces,
and that vast plain, late so luxuriant and beautiful, was one wide
scene of desolation. The destroying army, having accomplished
its task, passed over the bridge of Pinos and wound up into the
mountains on the way to Cordova, bearing away the spoils of towns
and villages and driving off flocks and herds in long dusty columns.
The sound of the last Christian trumpet died away along the side
of the mountain of Elvira, and not a hostile squadron was seen
glistening on the mournful fields of the Vega.

The eyes of Boabdil el Chico were at length opened to the real

policy of King Ferdinand, and he saw that he had no longer anything
to depend upon but the valor of his arm. No time was to be lost in
hastening to counteract the effect of the late Christian ravage and

in opening the channel for distant supplies to Granada.

Scarcely had the retiring squadrons of Ferdinand disappeared among

the mountains when Boabdil buckled on his armor, sallied forth from
the Alhambra, and prepared to take the field. When the populace
beheld him actually in arms against his late ally, both parties
thronged with zeal to his standard. The hardy inhabitants also of
the Sierra Nevada, or chain of snow-capped mountains which rise
above Granada, descended from their heights and hastened into

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the city gates to proffer their devotion to their youthful king. The
great square of the Vivarrambla shone with legions of cavalry decked
with the colors and devices of the most ancient Moorish families, and
marshalled forth by the patriot Muza to follow the king to battle.

It was on the 15th of June that Boabdil once more issued forth from
the gates of Granada on martial enterprise. A few leagues from the
city, within full view of it, and at the entrance of the Alpuxarras
mountains, stood the powerful castle of Alhendin. It was built on an
eminence rising from the midst of a small town, and commanding a
great part of the Vega and the main road to the rich valleys of the
Alpuxarras. The castle was commanded by a valiant Christian cavalier
named Mendo de Quexada, and garrisoned by two hundred and fifty
men, all seasoned and experienced warriors. It was a continual thorn
in the side of Granada: the laborers of the Vega were swept off from
their fields by its hardy soldiers; convoys were cut off in the passes
of the mountains; and, as the garrison commanded a full view of the
gates of the city, no band of merchants could venture forth on their
needful journeys without being swooped up by the war-hawks
of Alhendin.

It was against this important fortress that Boabdil first led his
troops, and for six days and nights it was closely besieged. The
alcayde and his veteran garrison defended themselves valiantly, but
were exhausted by fatigue and constant watchfulness; for the Moors,
being continually relieved by fresh troops from Granada, kept up an
unremitted and vigorous attack. Twice the barbican was forced, and
twice the assailants were driven forth headlong with excessive loss.
The garrison, however, was diminished in number by the killed and
wounded; there were no longer soldiers sufficient to man the walls
and gateway; and the brave alcayde was compelled to retire with his
surviving force to the keep of the castle, in which he continued to
make a desperate resistance.

The Moors now approached the foot of the tower under shelter of
wooden screens covered with wet hides to ward off missiles and
combustibles. They went to work vigorously to undermine the tower,
placing props of wood under the foundations, to be afterward set on
fire, so as to give the besiegers time to escape before the edifice
should fall. Some of the Moors plied their crossbows and arquebuses
to defend the workmen and drive the Christians from the walls, while
the latter showered down stones and darts and melted pitch and
flaming combustibles on the miners.

The brave Mendo de Quexada had cast many an anxious eye across
the Vega in hopes of seeing some Christian force hastening to his
assistance. Not a gleam of spear or helm was to be descried, for no
one had dreamt of this sudden irruption of the Moors. The alcayde
beheld his bravest men dead or wounded around him, while the
remainder were sinking with watchfulness and fatigue. In defiance of

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all opposition, the Moors had accomplished their mine; the fire was
brought before the walls that was to be applied to the stanchions in
case the garrison persisted in defence. In a little while the tower
would crumble beneath him, and be rent and hurled a ruin to the
plain. At the very last moment the brave alcayde made the signal
of surrender. He marched forth with the remnant of his veteran
garrison, who were all made prisoners. Boabdil immediately ordered
the walls of the fortress to be razed and fire to be applied to the
stanchions, that the place might never again become a stronghold
to the Christians and a scourge to Granada. The alcayde and his
fellow-captives were led in dejected convoy across the Vega, when
they heard a tremendous crash behind them. They turned to look
upon their late fortress, but beheld nothing but a heap of tumbling
ruins and a vast column of smoke and dust where once had stood
the lofty tower of Alhendin.

CHAPTER LXXXVII.

EXPLOIT OF THE COUNT DE TENDILLA.

Boabdil el Chico followed up his success by capturing the two

fortresses of Marchena and Albolodny, belonging to Cid Hiaya; he
also sent his alfaquis in every direction to proclaim a holy war and
to summon all true Moslems of town or castle, mountain or valley,
to saddle steed and buckle on armor and hasten to the standard of
the faith. The tidings spread far and wide that Boabdil el Chico was
once more in the field and was victorious. The Moors of various
places, dazzled by this gleam of success, hastened to throw off
their sworn allegiance to the Castilian Crown and to elevate the
standard of Boabdil, and the youthful monarch flattered himself that
the whole kingdom was on the point of returning to its allegiance.

The fiery cavaliers of Granada, eager to renew those forays into

the Christian lands in which they had formerly delighted, concerted
an irruption to the north, into the territory of Jaen, to harass the
country about Quezada. They had heard of a rich convoy of
merchants and wealthy travellers on the way to the city of Baza,
and anticipated a glorious conclusion to their foray in capturing
this convoy.

Assembling a number of horsemen, lightly armed and fleetly mounted,

and one hundred foot-soldiers, they issued forth by night from
Granada, made their way in silence through the defiles of the
mountains, crossed the frontier without opposition, and suddenly
appeared, as if fallen from the clouds, in the very heart of the
Christian country.

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 The mountainous frontier which separates Granada from Jaen was
at this time under the command of the count de Tendilla, the same
veteran who had distinguished himself by his vigilance and sagacity
when commanding the fortress of Alhama. He held his head-quarters
at the city of Alcala la Real, in its impregnable fortress perched high
among the mountains, about six leagues from Granada, and dominating
all the frontier. From this cloud-capt hold he kept an eagle eye
upon Granada, and had his scouts and spies in all directions, so
that a crow could not fly over the border without his knowledge.
His fortress was a place of refuge for the Christian captives who
escaped by night from the Moorish dungeons of Granada. Often,
however, they missed their way in the defiles of the mountains, and,
wandering about bewildered, either repaired by mistake to some
Moorish town or were discovered and retaken at daylight by the
enemy. To prevent these accidents, the count had a tower built at
his own expense on the top of one of the heights near Alcala, which
commanded a view of the Vega and the surrounding country. Here
he kept a light blazing throughout the night as a beacon for all
Christian fugitives to guide them to a place of safety.

The count was aroused one night from his repose by shouts and cries
which came up from the town and approached the castle walls. ”To
arms! to arms! the Moor is over the border!” was the cry. A Christian
soldier, pale and emaciated, who still bore traces of Moorish chains,
was brought before the count. He had been taken as guide by the
Moorish cavaliers who had sallied from Granada, but had escaped
from them among the mountains, and after much wandering had
found his way to Alcala by the signal-fire.

Notwithstanding the bustle and agitation of the moment, the count

de Tendilla listened calmly and attentively to the account of the
fugitive, and questioned him minutely as to the time of departure
of the Moors and the rapidity and direction of their march. He saw
that it was too late to prevent their incursion and ravage, but he
determined to await them and give them a warm reception on
their return. His soldiers were always on the alert and ready to
take the field at a moment’s warning. Choosing one hundred and
fifty lances, hardy and valiant men, well disciplined and well
seasoned–as indeed were all his troops–he issued forth quietly
before break of day, and, descending through the defiles of the
mountains, stationed his little force in ambush in a deep barranca,
or dry channel of a torrent near Barzina, but three leagues from
Granada, on the road by which the marauders would have to
return. In the mean time he sent out scouts to post themselves
upon different heights and look out for the approach of the enemy.

All day they remained concealed in the ravine and for a great part
of the following night; not a Moor, however, was to be seen,
excepting now and then a peasant returning from his labor or a

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solitary muleteer hastening toward Granada. The cavaliers of the
count began to grow restless and impatient, fearing that the enemy
might have taken some other route or might have received
intelligence of their ambuscade. They urged the count to abandon the
enterprise and return to Alcala. ”We are here,” said they, ”almost
at the gates of the Moorish capital, our movements may have been
descried, and before we are aware Granada may pour forth its legions
of swift cavalry and crush us with an overwhelming force.” The
count, however, persisted in remaining until his scouts should come
in. About two hours before daybreak there were signal-fires on
certain Moorish watch-towers of the mountains. While they were
regarding these with anxiety the scouts came hurrying into the
ravine. ”The Moors are approaching,” said they; ”we have
reconnoitred them near at hand. They are between one and two
hundred strong, but encumbered with many prisoners and much
booty.” The Christian cavaliers laid their ears to the ground and
heard the distant tramp of horses and the tread of foot-soldiers.
They mounted their horses, braced their shields, couched their
lances, and drew near to the entrance of the ravine where it
opened upon the road.

The Moors had succeeded in waylaying and surprising the Christian

convoy on its way to Baza. They had captured a great number of
prisoners, male and female, with great store of gold and jewels and
sumpter mules laden with rich merchandise. With these they had made
a forced march over the dangerous parts of the mountains, but now,
finding themselves so near to Granada, fancied themselves in perfect
security. They loitered along the road, therefore, irregularly and
slowly, some singing, others laughing and exulting at having eluded
the boasted vigilance of the count de Tendilla, while ever and anon
was heard the plaint of some female captive bewailing the jeopardy
of her honor or the heavy sighing of the merchant at beholding his
property in the grasp of ruthless spoilers.

The count waited until some of the escort had passed the ravine;
then, giving the signal for assault, his cavaliers set up great
shouts and cries and charged into the centre of the foe. The
obscurity of the place and the hour added to the terrors of the
surprise. The Moors were thrown into confusion; some rallied, fought
desperately, and fell covered with wounds. Thirty-six were killed
and fifty-five were made prisoners; the rest under cover of the
darkness made their escape to the rocks and defiles of the mountains.

The good count unbound the prisoners, gladdening the hearts of the
merchants by restoring to them their merchandise. To the female
captives also he restored the jewels of which they had been
despoiled, excepting such as had been lost beyond recovery.
Forty-five saddle horses of the choice Barbary breed remained as
captured spoils of the Moors, together with costly armor and booty
of various kinds. Having collected everything in haste and arranged

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his cavalgada, the count urged his way with all speed for Alcala la
Real, lest he should be pursued and overtaken by the Moors of
Granada. As he wound up the steep ascent to his mountain-city the
inhabitants poured forth to meet him with shouts of joy. His triumph
was doubly enhanced by being received at the gates of the city by
his wife, the daughter of the marques of Villena, a lady of
distinguished merit, whom he had not seen for two years, during
which he had been separated from his home by the arduous duties
of these iron wars.

We have yet another act to relate of this good count de Tendilla,

who was in truth a mirror of knightly virtue. One day a Christian
soldier, just escaped from captivity in Granada, brought word to the
count that an illustrious damsel named Fatima, niece of the alcayde
Aben Comixa, was to leave the city on a certain day, escorted by a
numerous party of relatives and friends of distinguished rank, on a
journey to Almunecar, there to embark for the African coast to
celebrate her nuptials with the alcayde of Tetuan. This was too
brilliant a prize to be neglected. The count accordingly sallied
forth with a light company of cavalry, and, descending the defiles
of the mountains, stationed himself behind the rocky sierra of
Elvira, not far from the eventful bridge of Pinos, within a few short
miles of Granada. Hence he detached Alonso de Cardenas Ulloa,
with fifty light horsemen, to post himself in ambush by the road the
bridal party had to travel. After a time the latter came in sight,
proving less numerous than had been expected, for the damsel was
escorted merely by four armed domestics and accompanied by a few
relatives and two female attendants. The whole party was surrounded
and captured almost without resistance, and carried off to the count
at the bridge of Pinos. The good count conveyed his beautiful
captive to his stronghold at Alcala, where he treated her and her
companions with all the delicacy and respect due to their rank and
to his own character as a courteous cavalier.

The tidings of the capture of his niece gave poignant affliction to the
vizier Aben Comixa. His royal master, Boabdil, of whom he was the
prime favorite and confidential adviser, sympathized in his distress.
With his own hand he wrote a letter to the count, offering in exchange
for the fair Fatima one hundred Christian captives to be chosen from
those detained in Granada. This royal letter was sent by Don Francisco
de Zuniga, an Aragonese cavalier, whom Aben Comixa held in captivity,
and who was set at liberty for the purpose.

On receiving the letter of Boabdil the count de Tendilla at once gave

freedom to the Moorish maid, making her a magnificent present
of jewels, and sending her and her companions under honorable
escort to the very gates of Granada.

Boabdil, exceeding his promises, immediately set free twenty captive

priests, one hundred and thirty Castilian and Aragonian cavaliers,

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and a number of peasant-women. His favorite and vizier, Aben
Comixa, was so rejoiced at the liberation of his niece, and so struck
with the chivalrous conduct of her captor, that he maintained from
that day a constant and amicable correspondence with the count
de Tendilla, and became in the hands of the latter one of the most
efficacious agents in bringing the war of Granada to a triumphant
close.

This interesting anecdote of the count de Tendilla, which is a key

to the subsequent conduct of the vizier Aben Comixa, and had a
singular influence on the fortunes of Boabdil and his kingdom, is
originally given in a manuscript history of the counts of Tendilla,
written about the middle of the sixteenth century by Gabriel
Rodriguez de Ardila, a Granadine clergyman. It has been brought
to light recently by the researches of Alcantara for his History of
Granada (vol. 4, cap. 18).

CHAPTER LXXXVIII.

EXEPEDITION OF BOABDIL EL CHICO AGAINST SALOBRENA.–

EXPLOIT OF HERNAN PEREZ DEL PULGAR.

King Boabdil found that his diminished territory was too closely
dominated by Christian fortresses like Alcala la Real, and too
strictly watched by vigilant alcaydes like the count of Tendilla,
to be able to maintain itself by internal resources. His foraging
expeditions were liable to be intercepted and defeated, while the
ravage of the Vega had swept off everything on which the city
depended for future sustenance. He felt the want of a seaport
through which, as formerly, he might keep open a communication
with Africa and obtain reinforcements and supplies from beyond
the sea. All the ports and harbors were in the hands of the
Christians, and Granada and its remnant of dependent territory
were completely landlocked.

In this emergency the attention of Boabdil was called by

circumstances to the seaport of Salobrena. This redoubtable town
has already been mentioned in this chronicle as a place deemed
impregnable by the Moors, insomuch that their kings were accustomed
in time of peril to keep their treasures in its citadel. It was situated
on a high rocky hill dividing one of those rich little vegas or plains
which lie open to the Mediterranean, but run like deep green bays
into the stern bosoms of the mountains. The vega was covered
with beautiful vegetation, with rice and cotton, with groves of
oranges, citrons, figs, and mulberries, and with gardens enclosed
by hedges of reeds, of aloes, and the Indian fig. Running streams of

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cool water from the springs and snows of the Sierra Nevada kept this
delightful valley continually fresh and verdant, while it was almost
locked up by mountain-barriers and lofty promontories stretching far
into the sea.

Through the centre of this rich vega the rock of Salobrena reared
its rugged back, nearly dividing the plain and advancing to the
margin of the sea, with just a strip of sandy beach at its foot
laved by the blue waves of the Mediterranean.

The town covered the ridge and sides of the rocky hill, and was
fortified by strong walls and towers, while on the highest and most
precipitate part stood the citadel, a huge castle that seemed to
form a part of the living rock, the massive ruins of which at the
present day attract the gaze of the traveller as he winds his way
far below along the road through the vega.

This important fortress had been entrusted to the command of Don

Francisco Ramirez de Madrid, captain-general of the artillery and
the most scientific of all the Spanish leaders. That experienced
veteran, however, was with the king at Cordova, having left a
valiant cavalier as alcayde of the place.

Boabdil had full information of the state of the garrison and the
absence of its commander. Putting himself at the head of a powerful
force, therefore, he departed from Granada, and made a rapid march
through the mountains, hoping to seize upon Salobrena before King
Ferdinand could come to its assistance.

The inhabitants of Salobrena were mudexares, or Moors who had

sworn allegiance to the Christians. Still, when they heard the sound
of the Moorish drums and trumpets, and beheld the squadrons of their
countrymen advancing across the vega, their hearts yearned toward
the standard of their nation and their faith. A tumult arose in the
place; the populace shouted the name of Boabdil el Chico and,
throwing open the gates, admitted him within the walls.

The Christian garrison was too few in number to contend for the
possession of the town: they retreated to the citadel and shut
themselves within its massive walls, which were considered
impregnable. Here they maintained a desperate defence, hoping to
hold out until succor should arrive from the neighboring fortresses.

The tidings that Salobrena was invested by the Moorish king spread
along the sea-coast and filled the Christians with alarm. Don
Francisco Enriquez, uncle of the king, commanded the city of Velez
Malaga, about twelve leagues distant, but separated by ranges of
those vast rocky mountains which are piled along the Mediterranean
and tower in steep promontories and precipices above its waves.

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 Don Francisco summoned the alcaydes of his district to hasten with
him to the relief of this important fortress. A number of cavaliers
and their retainers answered to his call, among whom was Hernan
Perez del Pulgar, surnamed ”El de las hazanas” (He of the exploits)–
the same who had signalized himself in a foray by elevating a
handkerchief on a lance for a banner and leading on his disheartened
comrades to victory. As soon as Don Francisco beheld a little band
collected round him, he set out with all speed for Salobrena. The
march was rugged and severe, climbing and descending immense
mountains, and sometimes winding along the edge of giddy
precipices, with the surges of the sea raging far below. When Don
Francisco arrived with his followers at the lofty promontory that
stretches along one side of the little vega of Salobrena, he looked
down with sorrow and anxiety upon a Moorish army of great force
encamped at the foot of the fortress, while Moorish banners on
various parts of the walls proved that the town was already in
possession of the infidels. A solitary Christian standard alone
floated on the top of the castle-keep, showing that the brave
garrison were hemmed up in their rock-built citadel. They were,
in fact, reduced to great extremity through want of water and
provisions.

Don Francisco found it impossible, with his small force, to make any
impression on the camp of the Moors or to get to the relief of the
castle. He stationed his little band upon a rocky height near the
sea, where they were safe from the assaults of the enemy. The
sight of his friendly banner waving in their neighborhood cheered
the heart of the garrison, and gave them assurance of speedy succor
from the king, while the hostile menaces of Don Francisco served to
check the attacks of the Moors upon the citadel.

In the mean time, Hernan Perez del Pulgar, who always burned to
distinguish himself by bold and striking exploits, had discovered in
the course of his prowlings a postern gate of the castle opening
upon the steep part of the rocky hill looking toward the mountains.
The thought occurred to him that by a bold dash at a favorable
moment this postern might be attained and succor thrown into the
castle. He pointed the place out to his comrades. ”Who will follow
my banner,” said he, ”and make a dash for yonder postern?” A
bold proposition in time of warfare never wants for bold spirits to
accept it. Seventy resolute men stepped forward to second him.
Pulgar chose the early daybreak for his enterprise, when the Moors,
just aroused from sleep, were changing guard and making the various
arrangements of the morning. Favored by these movements and the
drowsiness of the hour, Pulgar approached the Moorish line silently
and steadily, most of his followers armed with crossbows and
espingardas, or muskets. Then, suddenly making an onset, they
broke through a weak part of the camp before the alarm had spread
through the army, and succeeded in fighting their way up to the gate,
which was eagerly thrown open to receive them.

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 The garrison, roused to new spirit by this unlooked-for reinforcement,
was enabled to make a more vigorous resistance. The Moors, however,
who knew there was a great scarcity of water in the castle, exulted
in the idea that this additional number of warriors would soon exhaust
the cisterns and compel a surrender. Pulgar, hearing of this hope,
caused a bucket of water to be lowered from the battlements and
threw a silver cup in bravado to the Moors.

The garrison, in truth, suffered intensely from thirst, while, to

tantalize them in their sufferings, they beheld limpid streams
winding in abundance through the green plain below them. They
began to fear that all succor would arrive too late, when one day
they beheld a little squadron of vessels far at sea, but standing
toward the shore. There was some doubt at first whether it might
not be a hostile armament from Africa, but as it approached they
descried, to their great joy, the banner of Castile.

It was a reinforcement, brought in all haste by the governor of the

fortress, Don Francisco Ramirez. The squadron anchored at a steep
rocky island which rises from the very margin of the smooth sandy
beach directly in front of the rock of Salobrena and stretches out
into the sea. On this island Ramirez landed his men, and was as
strongly posted as if in a fortress. His force was too scanty to
attempt a battle, but he assisted to harass and distract the
besiegers. Whenever King Boabdil made an attack upon the fortress
his camp was assailed on one side by the troops of Ramirez, who
landed from their island, and on another by those of Don Francisco
Enriquez, who swept down from their rock, while Hernan del Pulgar
kept up a brave defence from every tower and battlement of the
castle.

The attention of the Moorish king was diverted also, for a time, by
an ineffectual attempt to relieve the little port of Adra, which had
recently declared in his favor, but which had been recaptured for
the Christians by Cid Hiaya and his son Alnayar. Thus, the unlucky
Boabdil, bewildered on every hand, lost all the advantage that he
had gained by his rapid march from Granada. While he was yet
besieging the obstinate citadel, tidings were brought him that King
Ferdinand was in full march with a powerful host to its assistance.
There was no time for further delay: he made a furious attack with
all his forces upon the castle, but was again repulsed by Pulgar and
his coadjutors, when, abandoning the siege in despair, he retreated
with his army, lest King Ferdinand should get between him and his
capital. On his way back to Granada, however, he in some sort
consoled himself for his late disappointment by overrunning a part
of the territories and possessions lately assigned to his uncle El
Zagal and to Cid Hiaya. He defeated their alcaydes, destroyed
several of their fortresses, burnt their villages, and, leaving the
country behind him reeking and smoking with his vengeance,

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returned with considerable booty to repose himself within the
walls of the Alhambra.

Pulgar, Cron., p. 3, c .131; Cura de los Palacios, cap. 97.

CHAPTER LXXXIX.

HOW KING FERDINAND TREATED THE PEOPLE OF GUADIX, AND

HOW
EL ZAGAL FINISHED HIS REGAL CAREER.

Scarcely had Boabdil[11]ensconced himself in his capital when King

Ferdinand, at the head of seven thousand horse and twenty thousand
foot, again appeared in the Vega. He had set out in all haste from
Cordova to the relief of Salobrena, but hearing on his march that
the siege was raised, he turned to make a second ravage round the
walls of devoted Granada. His present forage lasted fifteen days, in
the course of which almost everything that had escaped his former
desolating visit was destroyed, and scarce a green thing or a living
animal was left on the face of the land. The Moors sallied frequently
and fought desperately in defence of their fields, but the work of
destruction was accomplished, and Granada, once the queen of
gardens, was left surrounded by a desert.

Ferdinand next hastened to crush a conspiracy in the cities of

Guadix, Baza, and Almeria. These recently conquered places had
entered into secret correspondence with Boabdil, inviting him to
march to their gates, promising to rise upon the Christian
garrisons, seize upon the citadels, and surrender them into his
power. The marques of Villena had received notice of the conspiracy,
and suddenly thrown himself with a large force into Guadix. Under
pretence of a review of the inhabitants he made them sally forth
into the fields before the city. When the whole Moorish population
capable of bearing arms was thus without the walls, he ordered the
gates to be closed. He then permitted them to enter two by two and
three by three, and take forth their wives, children, and effects. The
houseless Moors were fain to make themselves temporary hovels in
the gardens and orchards about the city; they were clamorous in
their complaints at being thus excluded from their homes, but were
told they must wait with patience until the charges against them
could be investigated and the pleasure of the king be known.

Zurita, lib.–, c. 85; Cura de los Palacios, c. 97.

When Ferdinand arrived at Guadix, he found the unhappy Moors in

their cabins among the orchards. They complained bitterly of the

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deception practised upon them, and implored permission to return
into the city and live peaceably in their dwellings, as had been
promised them in their articles of capitulation.

King Ferdinand listened graciously to their complaints. ”My friends,”

said he in reply, ”I have been informed that there has been a
conspiracy among you to kill my alcayde and garrison and to
take part with my enemy, the king of Granada. I shall make a
thorough investigation of this conspiracy. Those among you who
shall be proved innocent shall be restored to their dwellings, but
the guilty shall incur the penalty of their offences. As I wish,
however, to proceed with mercy as well as justice, I now give you
your choice–either to depart at once without further question,
going wherever you please, and taking with you your families and
effects under an assurance of safety, or to deliver up those who
are guilty, not one of whom, I give you my royal word, shall
escape punishment.”

When the people of Guadix heard these words they communed among
themselves; and, as most of them (says the worthy Agapida) were
either culpable or feared to be considered so, they accepted the
alternative and departed sorrowfully, they and their wives and their
little ones. ”Thus,” in the words of that excellent and contemporary
historian Andres Bernaldez, commonly called the curate of Los
Palacios,–”thus did the king deliver Guadix from the hands of the
enemies of our holy faith after seven hundred and seventy years
that it had been in their possession, ever since the time of Roderick
the Goth; and this was one of the mysteries of our Lord, who would
not consent that the city should remain longer in the power of the
Moors”–a pious and sage remark which is quoted with peculiar
approbation by the worthy Agapida.

King Ferdinand offered similar alternatives to the Moors of Baza,

Almeria, and other cities accused of participation in this conspiracy,
who generally preferred to abandon their homes rather than incur
the risk of an investigation. Most of them relinquished Spain as a
country where they could no longer live in security and independence,
and departed with their families for Africa; such as remained were
suffered to live in villages and hamlets and other unwalled places.

Garibay, lib. 13, cap. 39; Pulgar, part 3, cap. 132.

While Ferdinand was thus occupied at Guadix, dispensing justice

and mercy and receiving cities in exchange, the old monarch, Muley
Abdallah, surnamed El Zagal, appeared before him. He was haggard
with care and almost crazed with passion. He had found his little
territory of Andarax and his two thousand subjects as difficult to
govern as had been the distracted kingdom of Granada. The charm
which had bound the Moors to him was broken when he appeared
in arms under the banner of Ferdinand. He had returned from his

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inglorious campaign with his petty army of two hundred men, followed
by the execrations of the people of Granada and the secret repining of
those he had led into the field. No sooner had his subjects heard of
the successes of Boabdil el Chico than they had seized their arms,
assembled tumultuously, declared for the young monarch, and
threatened the life of El Zagal. The unfortunate old king had with
difficulty evaded their fury; and this last lesson seemed entirely
to have cured him of his passion for sovereignty. He now entreated
Ferdinand to purchase the towns and castles and other possessions
which had been granted to him, offering them at a low rate, and
begging safe passage for himself and his followers to Africa. King
Ferdinand graciously complied with his wishes. He purchased of him
three-and-twenty towns and villages in the valleys of Andarax and
Alhaurin, for which he gave him five millions of maravedis. El Zagal
relinquished his right to one-half of the salinas or salt-pits of Malaha
in favor of his brother-in-law, Cid Hiaya. Having thus disposed of
his petty empire and possessions, he packed up all his treasure, of
which he had a great amount, and, followed by many Moorish families,
passed over to Africa.

Cura de los Palacios, cap. 97.

Conde, part 4, cap. 41.

And here let us cast an eye beyond the present period of our
chronicle, and trace the remaining career of El Zagal. His short and
turbulent reign and disastrous end would afford a wholesome lesson
to unprincipled ambition, were not all ambition of the kind fated to
be blind to precept and example. When he arrived in Africa, instead
of meeting with kindness and sympathy, he was seized and thrown into
prison by the caliph of Fez, Benimerin, as though he had been his
vassal. He was accused of being the cause of the dissensions and
downfall of the kingdom of Granada, and, the accusation being proved
to the satisfaction of the king of Fez, he condemned the unhappy El
Zagal to perpetual darkness. A basin of glowing copper was passed
before his eyes, which effectually destroyed his sight. His wealth,
which had probably been the secret cause of these cruel measures,
was confiscated and seized upon by his oppressor, and El Zagal was
thrust forth, blind, helpless, and destitute, upon the world. In
this wretched condition the late Moorish monarch groped his way
through the regions of Tingitania until he reached the city of Velez
de la Gomera. The emir of Velez had formerly been his ally, and
felt some movement of compassion at his present altered and abject
state. He gave him food and raiment and suffered him to remain
unmolested in his dominions. Death, which so often hurries off the
prosperous and happy from the midst of untasted pleasures, spares,
on the other hand, the miserable to drain the last drop of his cup
of bitterness. El Zagal dragged out a wretched existence of many
years in the city of Velez. He wandered about blind and disconsolate,
an object of mingled scorn and pity, and bearing above his raiment

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a parchment on which was written in Arabic, ”This is the unfortunate
king of Andalusia.”

Marmol, De Rebelione Maur., lib. 1, cap. 16; Padraza, Hist.

Granad., part 3, c. 4; Suarez, Hist. Obisp. de Guadix y Baza,
cap. 10.

CHAPTER XC.

PREPARATIONS OF GRANADA FOR A DESPERATE DEFENCE.

How is thy strength departed, O Granada! how is thy beauty withered

and despoiled, O city of groves and fountains! The commerce that
once thronged thy streets is at an end; the merchant no longer
hastens to thy gates with the luxuries of foreign lands. The cities
which once paid thee tribute are wrested from thy sway; the chivalry
which filled thy Vivarrambla with sumptuous pageantry have fallen
in many battles. The Alhambra still rears its ruddy towers from the
midst of groves, but melancholy reigns in its marble halls, and the
monarch looks down from his lofty balconies upon a naked waste
where once extended the blooming glories of the Vega!

Such is the lament of the Moorish writers over the lamentable state
of Granada, now a mere phantom of former greatness. The two ravages
of the Vega, following so closely upon each other, had swept off all
the produce of the year, and the husbandman had no longer the heart
to till the field, seeing the ripening harvest only brought the spoiler to
his door.

During the winter season Ferdinand made diligent preparations for

the campaign that was to decide the fate of Granada. As this war
was waged purely for the promotion of the Christian faith, he thought
it meet that its enemies should bear the expenses. He levied,
therefore, a general contribution upon the Jews throughout his
kingdom by synagogues and districts, and obliged them to render
in the proceeds at the city of Seville.

Garibay, lib. 18, c. 39.

On the 11th of April, Ferdinand and Isabella departed for the

Moorish frontier, with the solemn determination to lay close siege
to Granada and never quit its walls until they had planted the
standard of the faith on the towers of the Alhambra. Many of the
nobles of the kingdom, particularly those from parts remote from
the scene of action, wearied by the toils of war and foreseeing
that this would be a tedious siege, requiring patience and vigilance

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rather than hardy deeds of arms, contented themselves with sending
their vassals, while they stayed at home to attend to their domains.
Many cities furnished soldiers at their cost, and the king took the
field with an army of forty thousand infantry and ten thousand
horse. The principal captains who followed him in this campaign
were Roderigo Ponce de Leon, the marques of Cadiz, the master of
Santiago, the marques of Villena, the counts of Tendilla, Cifuentes,
Cabra, and Urena, and Don Alonso de Aguilar.

Queen Isabella, accompanied by her son the prince Juan and the
princesses Juana, Maria, and Cathalina, her daughters, proceeded
to Alcala la Real, the mountain-fortress and stronghold of the count
de Tendilla. Here she remained to forward supplies to the army,
and to be ready to repair to the camp whenever her presence might
be required.

The army of Ferdinand poured into the Vega by various defiles of the
mountains, and on the 23d of April the royal tent was pitched at a
village called Los Ojos de Huescar, about a league and a half from
Granada. At the approach of this formidable force the harassed
inhabitants turned pale, and even many of the warriors trembled,
for they felt that the last desperate struggle was at hand.

Boabdil el Chico assembled his council in the Alhambra, from the

windows of which they could behold the Christian squadrons
glistening through clouds of dust as they poured along the Vega.
The utmost confusion and consternation reigned in the council. Many
of the members, terrified with the horrors impending over their
families, advised Boabdil to throw himself upon the generosity of
the Christian monarch: even several of the bravest suggested
the possibility of obtaining honorable terms.

The wazir of the city, Abul Casim Abdel Melic was called upon to
report the state of the public means for sustenance and defence.
There were sufficient provisions, he said, for a few months’ supply,
independent of what might exist in the possession of merchants
and other rich inhabitants. ”But of what avail,” said he, ”is a supply
for a few months against the sieges of the Castilian monarch, which
are interminable?”

He produced also the lists of men capable of bearing arms. ”The

number,” said he, ”is great, but what can be expected from mere
citizen soldiers? They vaunt and menace in time of safety; none are
so arrogant when the enemy is at a distance; but when the din of
war thunders at the gates they hide themselves in terror.”

When Muza heard these words he rose with generous warmth.

”What reason have we,” said he, ”to despair? The blood of those
illustrious Moors, the conquerors of Spain, still flows in our veins.
Let us be true to ourselves, and fortune will again be with us.

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We have a veteran force, both horse and foot, the flower of our
chivalry, seasoned in war and scarred in a thousand battles. As to
the multitude of our citizens, spoken of so slightly, why should we
doubt their valor? There are twenty thousand young men, in the fire
of youth, whom I will engage that in the defence of their homes they
will rival the most valiant veterans. Do we want provisions? Our
horses are fleet and our horsemen daring in the foray. Let them
scour and scourge the country of those apostate Moslems who have
surrendered to the Christians. Let them make inroads into the lands
of our enemies. We shall soon see them returning with cavalgadas
to our gates, and to a soldier there is no morsel so sweet as that
wrested with hard fighting from the foe.”

Boabdil, though he wanted firm and durable courage, was readily

excited to sudden emotions of bravery. He caught a glow of
resolution from the noble ardor of Muza. ”Do what is needful,” said
he to his commanders; ”into your hands I confide the common safety.
You are the protectors of the kingdom, and, with the aid of Allah,
will revenge the insults of our religion, the deaths of our friends
and relations, and the sorrows and sufferings heaped upon our
land.”

Conde.

To every one was now assigned his separate duty. The wazir had
charge of the arms and provisions and the enrolling of the people.
Muza was to command the cavalry, to defend the gates, and to take
the lead in all sallies and skirmishings. Naim Reduan and Muhammed
Aben Zayde were his adjutants. Abdel Kerim Zegri and the other
captains were to guard the walls, and the alcaydes of the Alcazaba
and of the Red Towers had command of the fortresses.

Nothing now was heard but the din of arms and the bustle of
preparation. The Moorish spirit, quick to catch fire, was immediately
in a flame, and the populace in the excitement of the moment set
at naught the power of the Christians. Muza was in all parts of the
city, infusing his own generous zeal into the bosoms of the soldiery.
The young cavaliers rallied round him as their model; the veteran
warriors regarded him with a soldier’s admiration; the vulgar throng
followed him with shouts; and the helpless part of the inhabitants,
the old men and the women, hailed him with blessings as their
protector.

On the first appearance of the Christian army the principal gates of

the city had been closed and secured with bars and bolts and heavy
chains: Muza now ordered them to be thrown open. ”To me and my
cavaliers,” said he, ”is entrusted the defence of the gates; our
bodies shall be their barriers.” He stationed at each gate a strong
guard chosen from his bravest men. His horsemen were always
completely armed and ready to mount at a moment’s warning:

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their steeds stood saddled and caparisoned in the stables, with
lance and buckler beside them. On the least approach of the enemy
a squadron of horse gathered within the gate, ready to launch forth
like the bolt from the thunder-cloud. Muza made no empty bravado
nor haughty threat; he was more terrible in deeds than in words, and
executed daring exploits beyond even the vaunt of the vainglorious.
Such was the present champion of the Moors. Had they possessed
many such warriors, or had Muza risen to power at an earlier period
of the war, the fate of Granada might have been deferred, and the
Moor for a long time have maintained his throne within the walls of
the Alhambra.

CHAPTER XCI.

HOW KING FERDINAND CONDUCTED THE SIEGE CAUTIOUSLY,

AND HOW QUEEN ISABELLA ARRIVED AT THE CAMP.

Though Granada was shorn of its glories and nearly cut off from all
external aid, still its mighty castles and massive bulwarks seemed
to set all attack at defiance. Being the last retreat of Moorish power,
it had assembled within its walls the remnants of the armies which
had contended, step by step, with the invaders in their gradual
conquest of the land. All that remained of high-born and high-bred
chivalry was here; all that was loyal and patriotic was roused to
activity by the common danger; and Granada, so long lulled into
inaction by vain hopes of security, now assumed a formidable
aspect in the hour of its despair.

Ferdinand saw that any attempt to subdue the city by main force
would be perilous and bloody. Cautious in his policy, and fond of
conquests gained by art rather than valor, he resorted to the plan
so successful with Baza, and determined to reduce the place by
famine. For this purpose his armies penetrated into the very heart
of the Alpuxarras, and ravaged the valleys and sacked and burnt
the towns upon which the city depended for its supplies. Scouting
parties also ranged the mountains behind Granada and captured every
casual convoy of provisions. The Moors became more daring as their
situation became more hopeless. Never had Ferdinand experienced
such vigorous sallies and assaults. Muza at the head of his cavalry
harassed the borders of the camp, and even penetrated into the
interior, making sudden spoil and ravage, and leaving his course
to be traced by the slain and wounded. To protect his camp from
these assaults, Ferdinand fortified it with deep trenches and strong
bulwarks. It was of a quadrangular form, divided into streets like a
city, the troops being quartered in tents and in booths constructed
of bushes and branches of trees. When it was completed Queen

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Isabella came in state, with all her court and the prince and
princesses, to be present at the siege. This was intended, as on
former occasions, to reduce the besieged to despair by showing the
determination of the sovereigns to reside in the camp until the city
should surrender. Immediately after her arrival the queen rode forth
to survey the camp and its environs: wherever she went she was
attended by a splendid retinue, and all the commanders vied with
each other in the pomp and ceremony with which they received her.
Nothing was heard from morning until night but shouts and
acclamations and bursts of martial music; so that it appeared to
the Moors as if a continual festival and triumph reigned in the
Christian camp.

The arrival of the queen, however and the menaced obstinacy of

the siege, had no effect in damping the fire of the Moorish chivalry.
Muza inspired the youthful warriors with the most devoted heroism.
”We have nothing left to fight for,” said he, ”but the ground we
stand on; when this is lost we cease to have a country and a name.”

Finding the Christian king forbore to make an attack, Muza incited

his cavaliers to challenge the youthful chivalry of the Christian
army to single combat or partial skirmishes. Scarce a day passed
without gallant conflicts of the kind in sight of the city and the
camp. The combatants rivalled each other in the splendor of their
armor and array, as well as in the prowess of their deeds. Their
contests were more like the stately ceremonials of tilts and
tournaments than the rude conflicts of the field. Ferdinand soon
perceived that they animated the fiery Moors with fresh zeal and
courage, while they cost the lives of many of his bravest cavaliers:
he again, therefore, forbade the acceptance of any individual
challenges, and ordered that all partial encounters should be
avoided. The cool and stern policy of the Catholic sovereign bore
hard upon the generous spirits of either army, but roused the
indignation of the Moors when they found that they were to be
subdued in this inglorious manner: ”Of what avail,” said they, ”are
chivalry and heroic valor? The crafty monarch of the Christians
has no magnanimity in warfare; he seeks to subdue us through
the weakness of our bodies, but shuns to encounter the courage
of our souls.”

CHAPTER XCII.

OF THE INSOLENT DEFIANCE OF TARFE THE MOOR, AND THE

DARING EXPLOIT OF HERNAN PEREZ DEL PULGAR.

When the Moorish knights beheld that all courteous challenges were

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unavailing, they sought various means to provoke the Christian
warriors to the field. Sometimes a body of them, fleetly mounted,
would gallop up to the skirts of the camp and try who should hurl
his lance farthest within the barriers, having his name inscribed
upon it or a label affixed containing some taunting defiance. These
bravadoes caused great irritation; still, the Spanish warriors were
restrained by the prohibition of the king.

Among the Moorish cavaliers was one named Tarfe, renowned for
strength and daring spirit, but whose courage partook of fierce
audacity rather than chivalric heroism. In one of these sallies,
when skirting the Christian camp, this arrogant Moor outstripped his
companions, overleaped the barriers, and, galloping close to the
royal quarters, launched his lance so far within that it remained
quivering in the earth close by the pavilions of the sovereigns. The
royal guards rushed forth in pursuit, but the Moorish horsemen were
already beyond the camp and scouring in a cloud of dust for the
city. Upon wresting the lance from the earth a label was found upon
it importing that it was intended for the queen.

Nothing could equal the indignation of the Christian warriors at the

insolence of the bravado and the discourteous insult offered to the
queen. Hernan Perez del Pulgar, surnamed ”He of the exploits,” was
present, and resolved not to be outbraved by this daring infidel.
”Who will stand by me,” said he, ”in an enterprise of desperate
peril?” The Christian cavaliers well knew the harebrained valor of
Hernan, yet not one hesitated to step forward. He chose fifteen
companions, all of powerful arm and dauntless heart.

His project was to penetrate Granada in the dead of the night by a

secret pass made known to him by a Moorish renegade of the city,
whom he had christened Pedro Pulgar, and who was to act as
guide. They were to set fire to the Alcaiceria and other principal
edifices, and then effect their retreat as best they might. At the
hour appointed the adventurous troops set forth provided with
combustibles. The renegade led them silently to a drain or channel
of the river Darro, up which they proceeded cautiously, single file,
until they halted under a bridge near the royal gate. Here
dismounting, Pulgar stationed six of his companions to remain silent
and motionless and keep guard, while, followed by the rest and still
guided by the renegade, he continued up the drain or channel of the
Darro, which passes under a part of the city, and was thus enabled
to make his way undiscovered into the streets. All was dark and
silent. At the command of Pulgar the renegade led him to the
principal mosque. Here the cavalier, pious as brave, threw himself
on his knees, and, drawing forth a parchment scroll on which was
inscribed in large letters ”AVE MARIA,” nailed it to the door of the
mosque, thus converting the heathen edifice into a Christian chapel
and dedicating it to the Blessed Virgin. This done, he hastened to
the Alcaiceria to set it in a blaze. The combustibles were all placed,

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but Tristan de Montemayor, who had charge of the firebrand, had
carelessly left it at the door of the mosque. It was too late to
return there. Pulgar was endeavoring to strike fire with flint and
steel into the ravelled end of a cord when he was startled by the
approach of the Moorish guards going the rounds. His hand was on his
sword in an instant. Seconded by his brave companions, he assailed
the astonished Moors and put them to flight. In a little while the whole
city resounded with alarms, soldiers were hurrying through the streets
in every direction; but Pulgar, guided by the renegade, made good
his retreat by the channel of the Darro to his companions at the
bridge, and all, mounting their horses, spurred back to the camp.
The Moors were at a loss to imagine the meaning of this wild and
apparently fruitless assault, but great was their exasperation on
the following day when the trophy of hardihood and prowess, the
”AVE MARIA,” was discovered thus elevated in bravado in the very
centre of the city. The mosque thus boldly sanctified by Hernan del
Pulgar was actually consecrated into a cathedral after the capture
of Granada.

The account here given of the exploit of Hernan del Pulgar differs
from that given in the first edition, and is conformable to the
record of the fact in a manuscript called ”The House of Salar,”
existing in the library of Salazar and cited by Alcantara in his
History of Granada.

In commemoration of this daring feat of Pulgar, the emperor Charles

V. in after years conferred on that cavalier and on his descendants,
the marqueses of Salar, the privilege of sitting in the choir during
high mass, and assigned as the place of sepulture of Pulgar himself
the identical spot where he kneeled to affix the sacred scroll; and
his tomb is still held in great veneration. This Hernan Perez del
Pulgar was a man of letters, as well as art, and inscribed to
Charles V. a summary of the achievements of Gonsalvo of Cordova,
surnamed the Great Captain, who had been one of his comrades-
in-arms. He is often confounded with Hernando del Pulgar,
historian and secretary to Queen Isabella. (See note to Pulgar’s
Chron. of the Catholic Sovereigns, part 3, c. iii., edit. Valencia, 1780.)

CHAPTER XCIII.

HOW QUEEN ISABELLA TOOK A VIEW OF THE CITY OF GRANADA,

AND HOW HER CURIOSITY COST THE LIVES OF MANY
CHRISTIANS AND MOORS.

The royal encampment lay so distant from Granada that the general
aspect of the city only could be seen as it rose gracefully from the

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Vega, covering the sides of the hills with palaces and towers. Queen
Isabella had expressed an earnest desire to behold nearer at hand a
city whose beauty was so renowned throughout the world; and the
marques of Cadiz, with his accustomed courtesy, prepared a great
military escort and guard to protect her and the ladies of the court
while they enjoyed this perilous gratification.

On the morning of June the 18th a magnificent and powerful train

issued from the Christian camp. The advanced guard was composed
of legions of cavalry, heavily armed, looking like moving masses of
polished steel. Then came the king and queen, with the prince and
princess and the ladies of the court, surrounded by the royal body-
guard, sumptuously arrayed, composed of the sons of the most
illustrious houses of Spain; after these was the rear-guard, a
powerful force of horse and foot, for the flower of the army sallied
forth that day. The Moors gazed with fearful admiration at this
glorious pageant, wherein the pomp of the court was mingled with the
terrors of the camp. It moved along in radiant line across the Vega
to the melodious thunders of martial music, while banner and plume
and silken scarf and rich brocade gave a gay and gorgeous relief to
the grim visage of iron war that lurked beneath.

The army moved toward the hamlet of Zubia, built on the skirts of
the mountain to the left of Granada, and commanding a view of
the Alhambra and the most beautiful quarter of the city. As they
approached the hamlet the marques of Villena, the count Urena, and
Don Alonso de Aguilar fled off with their battalions, and were soon
seen glittering along the side of the mountain above the village. In
the mean time, the marques of Cadiz, the count de Tendilla, the
count de Cabra, and Don Alonso Fernandez, senior of Alcaudrete and
Montemayor, drew up their forces in battle array on the plain below
the hamlet, presenting a living barrier of loyal chivalry between the
sovereigns and the city.

Thus securely guarded, the royal party alighted, and, entering one
of the houses of the hamlet which had been prepared for their
reception, enjoyed a full view of the city from its terraced roof.
The ladies of the court gazed with delight at the red towers of the
Alhambra rising from amid shady groves, anticipating the time when
the Catholic sovereigns should be enthroned within its walls and its
courts shine with the splendor of Spanish chivalry. ”The reverend
prelates and holy friars who always surrounded the queen looked
with serene satisfaction,” says Fray Antonio Agapida, ”at this modern
Babylon, enjoying the triumph that awaited them when those mosques
and minarets should be converted into churches, and goodly priests
and bishops should succeed to the infidel alfaquis.”

When the Moors beheld the Christians thus drawn forth in full array
in the plain, they supposed it was to offer battle, and hesitated
not to accept it. In a little while the queen beheld a body of

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Moorish cavalry pouring into the Vega, the riders managing their
fleet and fiery steeds with admirable address. They were richly
armed and clothed in the most brilliant colors, and the caparisons
of their steeds flamed with gold and embroidery. This was the
favorite squadron of Muza, composed of the flower of the youthful
cavaliers of Granada. Others succeeded, some heavily armed,
others ”a la gineta” with lance and buckler, and lastly came the
legions of foot-soldiers with arquebuse and crossbow and spear
and scimetar.

When the queen saw this army issuing from the city she sent to the
marques of Cadiz, and forbade any attack upon the enemy or the
acceptance of any challenge to a skirmish, for she was loth that her
curiosity should cost the life of a single human being.

The marques promised to obey, though sorely against his will, and
it grieved the spirit of the Spanish cavaliers to be obliged to remain
with sheathed sword’s while bearded by the foe. The Moors could
not comprehend the meaning of this inaction of the Christians after
having apparently invited a battle. They sallied several times from
their ranks, and approached near enough to discharge their arrows,
but the Christians were immovable. Many of the Moorish horsemen
galloped close to the Christian ranks, brandishing their lances and
scimetars and defying various cavaliers to single combat; but
Ferdinand had rigorously prohibited all duels of the kind, and they
dared not transgress his orders under his very eye.

Here, however, the worthy Fray Antonio Agapida, in his enthusiasm

for the triumphs of the faith, records the following incident, which
we fear is not sustained by any grave chronicler of the times, but
rests merely on tradition or the authority of certain poets and
dramatic writers who have perpetuated the tradition in their works:
While this grim and reluctant tranquillity prevailed along the
Christian line, says Agapida, there rose a mingled shout and sound
of laughter near the gate of the city. A Moorish horseman, armed at
all points, issued forth, followed by a rabble who drew back as he
approached the scene of danger. The Moor was more robust and brawny
than was common with his countrymen. His visor was closed; he bore a
huge buckler and a ponderous lance; his scimetar was of a Damascus
blade, and his richly ornamented dagger was wrought by an artificer
of Fez. He was known by his device to be Tarfe, the most insolent yet
valiant of the Moslem warriors–the same who had hurled into the
royal camp his lance inscribed to the queen. As he rode slowly along
in front of the army his very steed, prancing with fiery eye and
distended nostril, seemed to breathe defiance to the Christians.

But what were the feelings of the Spanish cavaliers when they
beheld, tied to the tail of his steed and dragged in the dust, the
very inscription–” AVE MARIA”–which Hernan Perez del Pulgar had
affixed to the door of the mosque! A burst of horror and indignation

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broke forth from the army. Hernan was not at hand to maintain his
previous achievement, but one of his young companions-in-arms,
Garcilasso de la Vega by name, putting spurs to his horse, galloped
to the hamlet of Zubia, threw himself on his knees before the king,
and besought permission to accept the defiance of this insolent
infidel and to revenge the insult offered to our Blessed Lady. The
request was too pious to be refused. Garcilasso remounted his steed,
closed his helmet, graced by four sable plumes, grasped his buckler
of Flemish workmanship and his lance of matchless temper, and defied
the haughty Moor in the midst of his career. A combat took place in
view of the two armies and of the Castilian court. The Moor was
powerful in wielding his weapons and dextrous in managing his steed.
He was of larger frame than Garcilasso, and more completely armed,
and the Christians trembled for their champion. The shock of their
encounter was dreadful; their lances were shivered, and sent up
splinters in the air. Garcilasso was thrown back in his saddle: his
horse made a wide career before he could recover, gather up the
reins, and return to the conflict. They now encountered each other
with swords. The Moor circled round his opponent as a hawk circles
where about to make a swoop; his steed obeyed his rider with
matchless quickness; at every attack of the infidel it seemed
as if the Christian knight must sink beneath his flashing scimetar.
But if Garcilasso was inferior to him in power, he was superior in
agility: many of his blows he parried; others he received upon his
Flemish shield, which was proof against the Damascus blade. The
blood streamed from numerous wounds received by either warrior.
The Moor, seeing his antagonist exhausted, availed himself of his
superior force, and, grappling, endeavored to wrest him from his
saddle. They both fell to earth: the Moor placed his knee upon the
breast of his victim, and, brandishing his dagger, aimed a blow at
his throat. A cry of despair was uttered by the Christian warriors,
when suddenly they beheld the Moor rolling lifeless in the dust.
Garcilasso had shortened his sword, and as his adversary raised his
arm to strike had pierced him to the heart. ”It was a singular and
miraculous victory,” says Fray Antonio Agapida; ”but the Christian
knight was armed by the sacred nature of his cause, and the Holy
Virgin gave him strength, like another David, to slay this gigantic
champion of the Gentiles.”

The laws of chivalry were observed throughout the combat–no one

interfered on either side. Garcilasso now despoiled his adversary;
then, rescuing the holy inscription of ”AVE MARIA” from its degrading
situation, he elevated it on the point of his sword, and bore it on
as a signal of triumph amid the rapturous shouts of the Christian
army.

The above incident has been commemorated in old Spanish ballads,

and made the subject of a scene in an old Spanish drama ascribed by
some to Lope de Vega.

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 The sun had now reached the meridian, and the hot blood of the Moors
was inflamed by its rays and by the sight of the defeat of their
champion. Muza ordered two pieces of ordnance to open a fire upon
the Christians. A confusion was produced in one part of their ranks:
Muza called to the chiefs of the army, ”Let us waste no more time in
empty challenges–let us charge upon the enemy: he who assaults
has always an advantage in the combat.” So saying, he rushed
forward, followed by a large body of horse and foot, and charged so
furiously upon the advance guard of the Christians that he drove it
in upon the battalion of the marques of Cadiz.

The gallant marques now considered himself absolved from all further
obedience to the queen’s commands. He gave the signal to attack,
”Santiago!” was shouted along the line, and he pressed forward to
the encounter with his battalion of twelve hundred lances. The other
cavaliers followed his example, and the battle instantly became general.

When the king and queen beheld the armies thus rushing to the
combat, they threw themselves on their knees and implored the
Holy Virgin to protect her faithful warriors. The prince and princess,
the ladies of the court, and the prelates and friars who were
present did the same, and the effect of the prayers of these
illustrious and saintly persons was immediately apparent. The
fierceness with which the Moors had rushed to the attack was
suddenly cooled; they were bold and adroit for a skirmish, but
unequal to the veteran Spaniards in the open field. A panic seized
upon the foot-soldiers; they turned and took to flight. Muza and his
cavaliers in vain endeavored to rally them. Some took refuge in the
mountains, but the greater part fled to the city in such confusion
that they overturned and trampled upon each other. The Christians
pursued them to the very gates. Upward of two thousand were either
killed, wounded, or taken prisoners, and the two pieces of ordnance
were brought off as trophies of the victory. Not a Christian lance
but was bathed that day in the blood of an infidel.

Cura de los Palacios, cap. 101; Zurita, lib. 20, c. 88.

Such was the brief but bloody action which was known among the
Christian warriors by the name of ”the Queen’s Skirmish;” for when
the marques of Cadiz waited upon Her Majesty to apologize for
breaking her commands, he attributed the victory entirely to her
presence. The queen, however, insisted that it was all owing to her
troops being led on by so valiant a commander. Her Majesty had not
yet recovered from her agitation at beholding so terrible a scene of
bloodshed, though certain veterans present pronounced it as gay
and gentle a skirmish as they had ever witnessed.

The gayety of this gentle pass at arms, however, was somewhat marred
by a rough reverse in the evening. Certain of the Christian cavaliers,
among whom were the count de Urena, Don Alonso Aguilar, his brother

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Gonsalvo of Cordova, Diego Castrillo, commander of Calatrava, and
others to the number of fifty, remained in ambush near Armilla,
expecting the Moors would sally forth at night to visit the scene of
battle and to bury their dead. They were discovered by a Moor who
had climbed an elm tree to reconnoitre, and who hastened into the
city to give notice of their ambush. Scarce had night fallen when the
cavaliers found themselves surrounded by a host which in the darkness
seemed innumerable. The Moors attacked them with sanguinary fury
to revenge the disgrace of the morning. The cavaliers fought to every
disadvantage, overwhelmed by numbers, ignorant of the ground,
perplexed by thickets and by the water-courses of the gardens, the
sluices of which were all thrown open. Even retreat was difficult.
The count de Urena was surrounded and in imminent peril, from which
he was saved by two of his faithful followers at the sacrifice of their
lives. Several cavaliers lost their horses, and were themselves put
to death in the water-courses. Gonsalvo of Cordova came near having
his own illustrious career cut short in this obscure skirmish. He had
fallen into a water-course, whence he extricated himself, covered
with mud and so encumbered with his armor that he could not retreat.
Inigo de Mendoza, a relative of his brother Alonso, seeing his peril,
offered him his horse. ”Take it, senor,” said he, ”for you cannot save
yourself on foot, and I can; but should I fall take care of my wife
and daughters.”

Gonsalvo accepted the devoted offer, mounted the horse, and had
made but few paces when a lamentable cry caused him to turn his
head, and he beheld the faithful Mendoza transfixed by Moorish lances.
The four principal cavaliers already named, with several of their
followers, effected their retreat and reached the camp in safety; but
this nocturnal reverse obscured the morning’s triumph. Gonsalvo
remembered the last words of the devoted Mendoza, and bestowed
a pension on his widow and marriage portions on his daughters.

The account of this nocturnal affair is from Peter Martyr, lib. 4,

Epist. 90, and Pulgar, Hazanas del Gran Capitan, page 188, as
cited by Alcantara, Hist. Granada, tom. 4, cap. 18.

To commemorate the victory of which she had been an eye-witness,

Queen Isabella afterward erected a monastery in the village of Zubia
dedicated to St. Francisco, which still exists, and in its garden is
a laurel planted by her hands.

The house whence the king and queen contemplated the battle is
likewise to be seen at the present day. It is in the first street to
the right on entering the village from the Vega, and the royal arms
are painted on the ceilings. It is inhabited by a worthy farmer,
Francisco Garcia, who in showing the house to the writer refused
all compensation with true Spanish pride, offering, on the contrary,
the hospitalities of his mansion. His children are versed in the old
Spanish ballads about the exploits of Hernan Perez del Pulgar and

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Garcilasso de la Vega.

CHAPTER XCIV.

THE LAST RAVAGE BEFORE GRANADA.

The ravages of war had as yet spared a little portion of the Vega of
Granada. A green belt of gardens and orchards still flourished round
the city, extending along the banks of the Xenil and the Darro. They
had been the solace and delight of the inhabitants in their happier
days, and contributed to their sustenance in this time of scarcity.
Ferdinand determined to make a final and exterminating ravage to
the very walls of the city, so that there should not remain a single
green thing for the sustenance of man or beast. The eighth of July
was the day appointed for this act of desolation. Boabdil was
informed by his spies of the intention of the Christian king, and
prepared to make a desperate defence. Hernando de Baeza, a
Christian who resided with the royal family in the Alhambra as
interpreter, gives in a manuscript memoir an account of the
parting of Boabdil from his family as he went forth to battle. At an
early hour on the appointed day, the eighth of July, he bathed and
perfumed himself, as the Moors of high rank were accustomed to
do when they went forth to peril their lives. Arrayed in complete
armor, he took leave of his mother, his wife, and his sister in the
antechamber of the Tower of Comares. Ayxa la Horra, with her
usual dignity, bestowed on him her benediction and gave him her
hand to kiss. It was a harder parting with his son and his daughter,
who hung round him with sobs and tears: the duenas and doncellas
too of the royal household made the halls of the Alhambra resound
with their lamentations. He then mounted his horse and put himself
in front of his squadrons.

Hernando de Baeza, as cited by Alcantara, Hist. Gran., t. 4, c. 18.

The Christian army approached close to the city, and were laying
waste the gardens and orchards when Boabdil sallied forth,
surrounded by all that was left of the flower and chivalry of
Granada. There is one place where even the coward becomes
brave–that sacred spot called home. What, then, must have been
the valor of the Moors, a people always of chivalrous spirit, when the
war was thus brought to their thresholds! They fought among the
scenes of their loves and pleasures, the scenes of their infancy,
and the haunts of their domestic life. They fought under the eyes
of their wives and children, their old men and their maidens–of all
that was helpless and all that was dear to them; for all Granada,
crowded on tower and battlement, watched with trembling heart

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the fate of this eventful day.

There was not so much one battle as a variety of battles: every

garden and orchard became a scene of deadly contest; every inch of
ground was disputed with an agony of grief and valor by the Moors;
every inch of ground that the Christians advanced they valiantly
maintained, but never did they advance with severer fighting or
greater loss of blood.

The cavalry of Muza was in every part of the field; wherever it came
it gave fresh ardor to the fight. The Moorish soldier, fainting with
heat, fatigue, and wounds, was roused to new life at the approach of
Muza; and even he who lay gasping in the agonies of death turned his
face toward him and faintly uttered cheers and blessings as he passed.

The Christians had by this time gained possession of various towers

near the city, whence they had been annoyed by crossbows and
arquebuses. The Moors, scattered in various actions, were severely
pressed. Boabdil, at the head of the cavaliers of his guard,
mingling in the fight in various parts of the field, endeavored to
inspirit the foot-soldiers to the combat. But the Moorish infantry
was never to be depended upon. In the heat of the action a panic
seized upon them; they fled, leaving their sovereign exposed with
his handful of cavaliers to an overwhelming force. Boabdil was on
the point of falling into the hands of the Christians, when, wheeling
round, he and his followers threw the reins on the necks of their
steeds and took refuge by dint of hoof within the walls of the city.

Zurita, lib. 20, c. 88.

Muza endeavored to retrieve the fortune of the field. He threw

himself before the retreating infantry, calling upon them to turn
and fight for their homes, their families, for everything sacred and
dear to them. All in vain: totally broken and dismayed, they fled
tumultuously for the gates. Muza would fain have kept the field
with his cavalry; but this devoted band, having stood the brunt of
war throughout this desperate campaign, was fearfully reduced in
numbers, and many of the survivors were crippled and enfeebled by
their wounds. Slowly and reluctantly, therefore, he retreated to the
city, his bosom swelling with indignation and despair. Entering the
gates, he ordered them to be closed and secured with bolts and
bars; for he refused to place any further confidence in the archers
and arquebusiers stationed to defend them, and vowed never
more to sally with foot-soldiers to the field.

In the mean time, the artillery thundered from the walls and checked
all further advance of the Christians. King Ferdinand therefore
called off his troops, and returned in triumph to his camp, leaving
the beautiful city of Granada wrapped in the smoke of her fields and
gardens and surrounded by the bodies of her slaughtered children.

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 Such was the last sally of the Moors in defence of their favorite
city. The French ambassador, who witnessed it, was filled with
wonder at the prowess, the dexterity, and the daring of the
Moslems.

In truth, this whole war was an instance, memorable in history,

of the most persevering resolution. For nearly ten years had the
war endured–an almost uninterrupted series of disasters to the
Moorish arms. Their towns had been taken, one after another, and
their brethren slain or led into captivity. Yet they disputed every
city and town and fortress and castle, nay, every rock itself, as if
they had been inspirited by victories. Wherever they could plant
foot to fight, or find wall or cliff whence to launch an arrow, they
disputed their beloved country; and now, when their capital was
cut off from all relief and a whole nation thundered at its gates,
they still maintained defence, as if they hoped some miracle to
interpose in their behalf. Their obstinate resistance (says an
ancient chronicler) shows the grief with which they yielded up
the Vega, which was to them a paradise and heaven. Exerting all
the strength of their arms, they embraced, as it were, that most
beloved soil, from which neither wounds nor defeats, nor death
itself, could part them. They stood firm, battling for it with the
united force of love and grief, never drawing back the foot while
they had hands to fight or fortune to befriend them.

Abarca, Reyes de Aragon, R. 30, c. 3.

CHAPTER XCV.

CONFLAGRATION OF THE CHRISTIAN CAMP.–BUILDING OF

SANTA FE.

The moors now shut themselves up gloomily within their walls; there
were no longer any daring sallies from their gates, and even the
martial clangor of the drum and trumpet, which had continually
resounded within the warrior city, was now seldom heard from its
battlements. In the midst of this deep despondency a single disaster
in the Christian camp for a moment lit up a ray of hope in the bosom
of the Moors.

The setting sun of a hot summer’s day, on the 10th of July, shone
splendidly upon the Christian camp, which was in a bustle of
preparation for the next day’s service, when an attack was meditated
on the city. The camp made a glorious appearance. The various
tents of the royal family and the attendant nobles were adorned

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with rich hangings and sumptuous devices and costly furniture,
forming, as it were, a little city of silk and brocade, where the
pinnacles of pavilions of various gay colors, surmounted with
waving standards and fluttering pennons, might vie with the
domes and minarets of the capital they were besieging.

In the midst of this little gaudy metropolis the lofty tent of the
queen domineered over the rest like a stately palace. The marques of
Cadiz had courteously surrendered his own tent to the queen: it was
the most complete and sumptuous in Christendom, and had been
carried about with him throughout the war. In the centre rose a
stately alfaneque, or pavilion, in Oriental taste, the rich hangings
being supported by columns of lances and ornamented with martial
devices. This central pavilion, or silken tower, was surrounded by
other compartments, some of painted linen lined with silk, and all
separated from each other by curtains. It was one of those camp
palaces which are raised and demolished in an instant like the city
of canvas which surrounds them.

As the evening advanced the bustle in the camp subsided. Every one
sought repose, preparatory to the next day’s trial. The king retired
early, that he might be up with the crowing of the cock to head the
destroying army in person. All stir of military preparation was hushed
in the royal quarters: the very sound of minstrelsy was mute, and
not the tinkling of a guitar was to be heard from the tents of the
fair ladies of the court.

The queen had retired to the innermost part of her pavilion, where
she was performing her orisons before a private altar: perhaps the
peril to which the king might be exposed in the next day’s foray
inspired her with more than usual devotion. While thus at her
prayers she was suddenly aroused by a glare of light and wreaths
of suffocating smoke. In an instant the whole tent was in a blaze:
there was a high gusty wind, which whirled the light flames from
tent to tent and wrapped the whole in one conflagration.

Isabella had barely time to save herself by instant flight. Her

first thought on being extricated from her tent was for the safety
of the king. She rushed to his tent, but the vigilant Ferdinand was
already at the entrance of it. Starting from bed on the first alarm
and fancying it an assault of the enemy, he had seized his sword
and buckler and sallied forth undressed with his cuirass upon
his arm.

The late gorgeous camp was now a scene of wild confusion. The
flames kept spreading from one pavilion to another, glaring upon
the rich armor and golden and silver vessels, which seemed melting
in the fervent heat. Many of the soldiers had erected booths and
bowers of branches, which, being dry, crackled and blazed and added
to the rapid conflagration. The ladies of the court fled, shrieking

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and half dressed, from their tents. There was an alarm of drum and
trumpet, and a distracted hurry about the camp of men half armed.
The prince Juan had been snatched out of bed by an attendant and
conveyed to the quarters of the count de Cabra, which were at the
entrance of the camp. The loyal count immediately summoned his
people and those of his cousin Don Alonso de Montemayor, and
formed a guard round the tent in which the prince was sheltered.

The idea that this was a stratagem of the Moors soon subsided, but
it was feared they might take advantage of it to assault the camp.
The marques of Cadiz, therefore, sallied forth with three thousand
horse to check any advance from the city. As they passed along the
whole camp was a scene of hurry and consternation–some hastening
to their posts at the call of drum and trumpet; some attempting to
save rich effects and glittering armor from the tents; others dragging
along terrified and restive horses.

When they emerged from the camp they found the whole firmament
illuminated. The flames whirled up in long light spires, and the air
was filled with sparks and cinders. A bright glare was thrown upon
the city, revealing every battlement and tower. Turbaned heads were
seen gazing from every roof, and armor gleamed along the walls, yet
not a single warrior sallied from the gates: the Moors suspected
some stratagem on the part of the Christians and kept quietly within
their walls. By degrees the flames expired; the city faded from sight;
all again became dark and quiet, and the marques of Cadiz returned
with his cavalry to the camp.

When the day dawned on the Christian camp nothing remained of that
beautiful assemblage of stately pavilions but heaps of smouldering
rubbish, with helms and corselets and other furniture of war, and
masses of melted gold and silver glittering among the ashes. The
wardrobe of the queen was entirely destroyed, and there was an
immense loss in plate, jewels, costly stuffs, and sumptuous armor
of the luxurious nobles. The fire at first had been attributed to
treachery, but on investigation it proved to be entirely accidental.
The queen on retiring to her prayers had ordered her lady in
attendance to remove a light burning near her couch, lest it should
prevent her sleeping. Through heedlessness, the taper was placed
in another part of the tent near the hangings, which, being blown
against it by a gust of wind, immediately took fire.

The wary Ferdinand knew the sanguine temperament of the Moors,

and hastened to prevent their deriving confidence from the night’s
disaster. At break of day the drums and trumpets sounded to arms,
and the Christian army issued forth from among the smoking ruins of
their camp in shining squadrons, with flaunting banners and bursts
of martial melody, as though the preceding night had been a time of
high festivity instead of terror.

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 The Moors had beheld the conflagration with wonder and perplexity.
When the day broke and they looked toward the Christian camp, they
saw nothing but a dark smoking mass. Their scouts came in with the
joyful intelligence that the whole camp was a scene of ruin. In the
exultation of the moment they flattered themselves with hopes that
the catastrophe would discourage the besiegers–that, as in former
years, their invasion would end with the summer and they would
withdraw before the autumnal rains.

The measures of Ferdinand and Isabella soon crushed these hopes.

They gave orders to build a regular city upon the site of their camp,
to convince the Moors that the siege was to endure until the
surrender of Granada. Nine of the principal cities of Spain were
charged with the stupendous undertaking, and they emulated each
other with a zeal worthy of the cause. ”It verily seems,” says Fray
Antonio Agapida, ”as though some miracle operated to aid this pious
work, so rapidly did arise a formidable city, with solid edifices and
powerful walls and mighty towers, where lately had been seen
nothing but tents and light pavilions. The city was traversed by
two principal streets in form of a cross, terminating in four gates
facing the four winds, and in the centre was a vast square where
the whole army might be assembled. To this city it was proposed
to give the name of Isabella, so dear to the army and the nation,
but that pious princess,” adds Antonio Agapida, ”calling to mind
the holy cause in which it was erected, gave it the name of Santa
Fe (or the City of the Holy Faith), and it remains to this day a
monument of the piety and glory of the Catholic sovereigns.”

Hither the merchants soon resorted from all points. Long trains of
mules were seen every day entering and departing from its gates;
the streets were crowded with magazines filled with all kinds of
costly and luxurious merchandise; a scene of bustling commerce
and prosperity took place, while unhappy Granada remained shut
up and desolate.

CHAPTER XCVI.

FAMINE AND DISCORD IN THE CITY.

The besieged city now began to suffer the distress of famine. Its
supplies were all cut off; a cavalgada of flocks and herds and mules
laden with money, coming to the relief of the city from the mountains
of the Alpuxarras, was taken by the marques of Cadiz and led in
triumph to the camp in sight of the suffering Moors. Autumn
arrived, but the harvests had been swept from the face of the
country; a rigorous winter was approaching and the city was almost

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destitute of provisions. The people sank into deep despondency.
They called to mind all that had been predicted by astrologers at the
birth of their ill-starred sovereign, and all that had been foretold
of the fate of Granada at the time of the capture of Zahara.

Boabdil was alarmed by the gathering dangers from without and by

the clamors of his starving people. He summoned a council, composed
of the principal officers of the army, the alcaydes of the fortresses,
the xequis or sages of the city, and the alfaquis or doctors of the
faith. They assembled in the great Hall of Audience of the Alhambra,
and despair was painted in their countenances. Boabdil demanded of
them what was to be done in the present extremity, and their answer
was, ”Surrender.” The venerable Abul Casim, governor of the city,
represented its unhappy state: ”Our granaries are nearly exhausted,
and no further supplies are to be expected. The provender for the
war-horses is required as sustenance for the soldiery; the very
horses themselves are killed for food; of seven thousand steeds
which once could be sent into the field, three hundred only remain.
Our city contains two hundred thousand inhabitants, old and young,
with each a mouth that calls piteously for bread.”

The xequis and principal citizens declared that the people could no
longer sustain the labors and sufferings of a defence. ”And of what
avail is our defence,” said they, ”when the enemy is determined to
persist in the siege? What alternative remains but to surrender or
to die?”

The heart of Boabdil was touched by this appeal, and he maintained

a gloomy silence. He had cherished some faint hope of relief from the
soldan of Egypt or the Barbary powers, but it was now at an end;
even if such assistance were to be sent, he had no longer a seaport
where it might debark. The counsellors saw that the resolution of
the king was shaken, and they united their voices in urging him to
capitulate.

Muza alone rose in opposition. ”It is yet too early,” said he, ”to
talk of surrender. Our means are not exhausted; we have yet one
source of strength remaining, terrible in its effects, and which often
has achieved the most signal victories–it is our despair. Let us
rouse the mass of the people–let us put weapons in their hands–
let us fight the enemy to the very utmost until we rush upon the
points of their lances. I am ready to lead the way into the thickest
of their squadrons; and much rather would I be numbered among
those who fell in the defence of Granada than of those who
survived to capitulate for her surrender.”

The words of Muza were without effect, for they were addressed to
broken-spirited and heartless men, or men, perhaps, to whom sad
experience had taught discretion. They were arrived at that state of
public depression when heroes and heroism are no longer regarded,

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and when old men and their counsels rise into importance. Boabdil el
Chico yielded to the general voice: it was determined to capitulate
with the Christian sovereigns, and the venerable Abul Casim was
sent forth to the camp empowered to treat for terms.

CHAPTER XCVII.

CAPITULATION OF GRANADA.

The old governor Abul Casim was received with great courtesy by
Ferdinand and Isabella, who, being informed of the purport of his
embassy, granted the besieged a truce of sixty days from the 5th of
October, and appointed Gonsalvo of Cordova and Hernando de Zafra,
the secretary of the king, to treat about the terms of surrender with
such commissioners as might be named by Boabdil. The latter on his
part named Abul Casim, Aben Comixa the vizier, and the grand cadi.
As a pledge of good faith Boabdil gave his son in hostage, who was
taken to Moclin, where he was treated with the greatest respect
and attention by the good count de Tendilla as general of the frontier.

The commissioners on both parts held repeated conferences in secret

in the dead of the night at the village of Churriana, those who first
arrived at the place of meeting giving notice to the others by signal-
fires or by means of spies. After many debates and much difficulty
the capitulation was signed on the 25th of November. According to
this, the city was to be delivered up, with all its gates, towers and
fortresses, within sixty days.

All Christian captives should be liberated without ransom.

Boabdil and his principal cavaliers should perform the act of homage
and take an oath of fealty to the Castilian Crown.

The Moors of Granada should become subjects of the Spanish

sovereigns, retaining their possessions, their arms and horses, and
yielding up nothing but their artillery. They should be protected in
the exercise of their religion, and governed by their own laws,
administered by cadis of their own faith under governors appointed
by the sovereigns. They should be exempted from tribute for three
years, after which term they should pay the same that they had been
accustomed to render to their native monarchs.

Those who chose to depart for Africa within three years should be
provided with a passage for themselves and their effects, free of
charge, from whatever port they should prefer.

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 For the fulfilment of these articles five hundred hostages from the
principal families were required previous to the surrender, who
should be treated with great respect and distinction by the
Christians, and subsequently restored. The son of the king of
Granada and all other hostages in possession of the Castilian
sovereigns were to be restored at the same time.

Such are the main articles affecting the public weal which were
agreed upon, after much discussion, by the mixed commission. There
were other articles, however, secretly arranged, which concerned the
royal family. These secured to Boabdil, to his wife Morayma, his
mother Ayza, his brothers, and to Zoraya, the widow of Muley Abul
Hassan, all the landed possessions, houses, mills, baths, and other
hereditaments which formed the royal patrimony, with the power
of selling them, personally or by agent, at any and all times. To
Boabdil was secured, moreover, his wealthy estates both in and
out of Granada, and to him and his descendants in perpetuity the
lordships of various town and lands and fertile valleys in the
Alpuxarras, forming a petty sovereignty. In addition to all which it
was stipulated that on the day of surrender he should receive thirty
thousand castelanos of gold.

Alcantara, t. 4, c. 18.

The conditions of surrender being finally agreed upon by the

commissioners, Abul Casim proceeded to the royal camp at Santa
Fe, where they were signed by Ferdinand and Isabella; he then
returned to Granada, accompanied by Hernando de Zafra, the
royal secretary, to have the same ratified also by the Moorish king.
Boabdil assembled his council, and with a dejected countenance
laid before it the articles of capitulation as the best that could be
obtained from the besieging foe.

When the members of the council found the awful moment arrived
when they were to sign and seal the perdition of their empire and
blot themselves out as a nation, all firmness deserted them, and
many gave way to tears. Muza alone retained an unaltered mien.
”Leave, seniors,” cried he, ”this idle lamentation to helpless women
and children: we are men–we have hearts, not to shed tender tears,
but drops of blood. I see the spirit of the people so cast down that
it is impossible to save the kingdom. Yet there still remains an
alternative for noble minds–a glorious death! Let us die defending
our liberty and avenging the woes of Granada. Our mother earth
will receive her children into her bosom, safe from the chains and
oppressions of the conqueror, or, should any fail a sepulchre to
hide his remains, he will not want a sky to cover him. Allah forbid
it should be said the nobles of Granada feared to die in her defence!”

Muza ceased to speak, and a dead silence reigned in the assembly.

Boabdil looked anxiously round and scanned every face, but he read

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in all the anxiety of careworn men, in whose hearts enthusiasm was
dead and who had grown callous to every chivalrous appeal. ”Allah
Akbar!” exclaimed he; ”there is no God but God, and Mahomet is his
prophet! We have no longer forces in the city and the kingdom to
resist our powerful enemies. It is in vain to struggle against the
will of Heaven. Too surely was it written in the book of fate that I
should be unfortunate and the kingdom expire under my rule.”

”Allah Akbar!” echoed the viziers and alfaquis; ”the will of God be
done!” So they all agreed with the king that these evils were
preordained, that it was hopeless to contend with them, and that
the terms offered by the Castilian monarchs were as favorable as
could be expected.

When Muza heard them assent to the treaty of surrender he rose

in violent indignation. ”Do not deceive yourselves,” cried he, ”nor
think the Christians will be faithful to their promises, or their king
as magnanimous in conquest as he has been victorious in war.
Death is the least we have to fear. It is the plundering and sacking
of our city, the profanation of our mosques, the ruin of our homes,
the violation of our wives and daughters, cruel oppression, bigoted
intolerance, whips and chains, the dungeon, the fagot, and the
stake: such are the miseries and indignities we shall see and
suffer; at least those grovelling souls will see and suffer them who
now shrink from an honorable death. For my part, by Allah, I will
never witness them!”

With these words he left the council-chamber, and passed gloomily

through the Court of Lions and the outer halls of the Alhambra
without deigning to speak to the obsequious courtiers who attended
in them. He repaired to his dwelling, armed himself at all points,
mounted his favorite warhorse, and, issuing from the city by the
gate of Elvira, was never seen or heard of more.

Conde, part 4.

CHAPTER XCVIII.

COMMOTIONS IN GRANADA.

The capitulation for the surrender of Granada was signed on the

25th of November, 1481, and produced a sudden cessation of those
hostilities which had raged for so many years. Christian and Moor
might now be seen mingling courteously on the banks of the Xenil and
the Darro, where to have met a few days previous would have produced
a scene of sanguinary contest. Still, as the Moors might be suddenly

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roused to the defence if within the allotted term of sixty days
succors should arrive from abroad, and as they were at all times a
rash, inflammable people, the wary Ferdinand maintained a vigilant
watch upon the city and permitted no supplies of any kind to enter.
His garrisons in the seaports and his cruisers in the Straits of
Gibraltar were ordered likewise to guard against any relief from the
grand soldan of Egypt or the princes of Barbary. There was no need
of such precautions. Those powers were either too much engrossed
by their own wars or too much daunted by the success of the Spanish
arms to interfere in a desperate cause, and the unfortunate Moors of
Granada were abandoned to their fate.

The month of December had nearly passed away: the famine became
extreme, and there was no hope of any favorable event within the
term specified in the capitulation. Boabdil saw that to hold out to
the end of the allotted time would but be to protract the miseries
of his people. With the consent of his council he determined to
surrender the city on the sixth of January. He accordingly sent his
grand vizier, Yusef Aben Comixa, to King Ferdinand to make known his
intention, bearing him, at the same time, a present of a magnificent
scimetar and two Arabian steeds superbly caparisoned.

The unfortunate Boabdil was doomed to meet with trouble to the end
of his career. The very next day the santon or dervise, Hamet Aben
Zarrax, the same who had uttered prophecies and excited commotions
on former occasions, suddenly made his appearance. Whence he came
no one knew: it was rumored that he had been in the mountains of the
Alpuxarras and on the coast of Barbary endeavoring to rouse the
Moslems to the relief of Granada. He was reduced to a skeleton; his
eyes glowed like coals in their sockets, and his speech was little
better than frantic raving. He harangued the populace in the streets
and squares, inveighed against the capitulation, denounced the king
and nobles as Moslems only in name, and called upon the people to
sally forth against the unbelievers, for that Allah had decreed them
a signal victory.

Upward of twenty thousand of the populace seized their arms and

paraded the streets with shouts and outcries. The shops and houses
were shut up; the king himself did not dare to venture forth, but
remained a kind of prisoner in the Alhambra.

The turbulent multitude continued roaming and shouting and howling

about the city during the day and a part of the night. Hunger and a
wintry tempest tamed their frenzy, and when morning came the
enthusiast who had led them on had disappeared. Whether he had
been disposed of by the emissaries of the king or by the leading men
of the city is not known: his disappearance remains a mystery.

Mariana.

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 Boabdil now issued from the Alhambra, attended by his principal
nobles, and harangued the populace. He set forth the necessity of
complying with the capitulation, from the famine that reigned in the
city, the futility of defence, and from the hostages having already
been delivered into the hands of the besiegers.

In the dejection of his spirits the unfortunate Boabdil attributed

to himself the miseries of the country. ”It was my crime in
ascending the throne in rebellion against my father,” said he,
mournfully, ”which has brought these woes upon the kingdom; but
Allah has grievously visited my sins upon my head. For your sake, my
people, I have now made this treaty, to protect you from the sword,
your little ones from famine, your wives and daughters from outrage,
and to secure you in the enjoyment of your properties, your liberties,
your laws, and your religion under a sovereign of happier destinies
than the ill-starred Boabdil.”

The versatile population were touched by the humility of their

sovereign: they agreed to adhere to the capitulation, and there was
even a faint shout of ”Long live Boabdil the Unfortunate!” and they
all returned to their homes in perfect tranquillity.

Boabdil immediately sent missives to King Ferdinand apprising him of

these events, and of his fears lest further delay should produce new
tumults. The vizier, Yusef Aben Comixa, was again the agent between
the monarchs. He was received with unusual courtesy and attention by
Ferdinand and Isabella, and it was arranged between them that the
surrender should take place on the second day of January, instead of
the sixth. A new difficulty now arose in regard to the ceremonial of
surrender. The haughty Ayxa la Horra, whose pride rose with the
decline of her fortunes, declared that as sultana-mother she would
never consent that her son should stoop to the humiliation of kissing
the hand of his conquerors, and unless this part of the ceremonial
were modified she would find means to resist a surrender
accompanied by such indignities.

Aben Comixa was sorely troubled by this opposition. He knew the

high spirit of the indomitable Ayxa and her influence over her less
heroic son, and wrote an urgent letter on the subject to his friend,
the count de Tendilla. The latter imparted the circumstance to the
Christian sovereigns; a council was called on the matter. Spanish
pride and etiquette were obliged to bend in some degree to the
haughty spirit of a woman. It was agreed that Boabdil should sally
forth on horseback–that on approaching the Spanish sovereigns
he should make a slight movement, as if about to draw his foot from
the stirrup and dismount, but would be prevented from doing so by
Ferdinand, who should treat him with a respect due to his dignity
and elevated birth. The count de Tendilla despatched a messenger
with this arrangement, and the haughty scruples of Ayxa la Horra
were satisfied.

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 Salazar de Mendoza, Chron. del Gran Cardinal, lib. 1, c. 69, p. 1;
Mondajar, His. MS., as cited by Alcantara, t. 4, c. 18.

CHAPTER XCIX.

SURRENDER OF GRANADA.

The night preceding the surrender was a night of doleful lamentings

within the walls of the Alhambra, for the household of Boabdil were
preparing to take a last farewell of that delightful abode. All the
royal treasures and most precious effects were hastily packed upon
mules; the beautiful apartments were despoiled, with tears and
wailings, by their own inhabitants. Before the dawn of day a
mournful cavalcade moved obscurely out of a postern gate of the
Alhambra and departed through one of the most retired quarters of
the city. It was composed of the family of the unfortunate Boabdil,
which he sent off thus privately, that they might not be exposed to
the eyes of scoffers or the exultation of the enemy. The mother of
Boabdil, the sultana Ayxa la Horra, rode on in silence, with dejected
yet dignified demeanor; but his wife Morayma and all the females
of his household gave way to loud lamentations as they looked
back upon their favorite abode, now a mass of gloomy towers
behind them. They were attended by the ancient domestics of the
household, and by a small guard of veteran Moors loyally attached
to the fallen monarch, and who would have sold their lives dearly
in defence of his family. The city was yet buried in sleep as they
passed through its silent streets. The guards at the gate shed
tears as they opened it for their departure. They paused not, but
proceeded along the banks of the Xenil on the road that leads to
the Alpuxarras, until they arrived at a hamlet at some distance from
the city, where they halted and waited until they should be joined
by King Boabdil. The night which had passed so gloomily in the
sumptuous halls of the Alhambra had been one of joyful anticipation
in the Christian camp. In the evening proclamation had been made
that Granada was to be surrendered on the following day, and the
troops were all ordered to assemble at an early hour under their
several banners. The cavaliers, pages, and esquires were all
charged to array themselves in their richest and most splendid style
for the occasion, and even the royal family determined to lay by the
mourning they had recently assumed for the sudden death of the
prince of Portugal, the husband of the princess Isabella. In a
clause of the capitulation it had been stipulated that the troops
destined to take possession should not traverse the city, but should
ascend to the Alhambra by a road opened for the purpose outside
of the walls. This was to spare the feelings of the afflicted

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inhabitants, and to prevent any angry collision between them and
their conquerors. So rigorous was Ferdinand in enforcing this
precaution that the soldiers were prohibited under pain of death
from leaving the ranks to enter into the city.

The rising sun had scarce shed his rosy beams upon the snowy
summits of the Sierra Nevada when three signal guns boomed
heavily from the lofty fortress of the Alhambra. It was the
concerted sign that all was ready for the surrender. The Christian
army forthwith poured out of the city, or rather camp, of Santa Fe,
and advanced across the Vega. The king and queen, with the prince
and princess, the dignitaries and ladies of the court, took the lead,
accompanied by the different orders of monks and friars, and
surrounded by the royal guards splendidly arrayed. The procession
moved slowly forward, and paused at the village of Armilla, at the
distance of half a league from the city.

In the mean time, the grand cardinal of Spain, Don Pedro Gonzalez de
Mendoza, escorted by three thousand foot and a troop of cavalry, and
accompanied by the commander Don Gutierrez de Cardenas and a
number of prelates and hidalgos, crossed the Xenil and proceeded in
the advance to ascend to the Alhambra and take possession of that
royal palace and fortress. The road which had been opened for the
purpose led by the Puerta de los Molinos, or Gate of Mills, up a
defile to the esplanade on the summit of the Hill of Martyrs. At the
approach of this detachment the Moorish king sallied forth from a
postern gate of the Alhambra, having left his vizier, Yusef Aben
Comixa, to deliver up the palace. The gate by which he sallied
passed through a lofty tower of the outer wall, called the Tower of
the Seven Floors (de los siete suelos). He was accompanied by fifty
cavaliers, and approached the grand cardinal on foot. The latter
immediately alighted, and advanced to meet him with the utmost
respect. They stepped aside a few paces, and held a brief
conversation in an under tone, when Boabdil, raising his voice,
exclaimed, ”Go, senor, and take possession of those fortresses in
the name of the powerful sovereigns to whom God has been pleased
to deliver them in reward of their great merits and in punishment of
the sins of the Moors.” The grand cardinal sought to console him in
his reverses, and offered him the use of his own tent during any
time he might sojourn in the camp. Boabdil thanked him for the
courteous offer, adding some words of melancholy import, and then,
taking leave of him gracefully, passed mournfully on to meet the
Catholic sovereigns, descending to the Vega by the same road by
which the cardinal had come. The latter, with the prelates and
cavaliers who attended him, entered the Alhambra, the gates of
which were thrown wide open by the alcayde Aben Comixa. At the
same time the Moorish guards yielded up their arms, and the towers
and battlements were taken possession of by the Christian troops.

While these transactions were passing in the Alhambra and its

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vicinity the sovereigns remained with their retinue and guards near
the village of Armilla, their eyes fixed on the towers of the royal
fortress, watching for the appointed signal of possession. The time
that had elapsed since the departure of the detachment seemed to
them more than necessary for the purpose, and the anxious mind of
Ferdinand began to entertain doubts of some commotion in the city.
At length they saw the silver cross, the great standard of this
crusade, elevated on the Torre de la Vela, or Great Watch-tower, and
sparkling in the sunbeams. This was done by Hernando de Talavera,
bishop of Avila. Beside it was planted the pennon of the glorious
apostle St. James, and a great shout of ”Santiago! Santiago!” rose
throughout the army. Lastly was reared the royal standard by the
king-at-arms, with the shout of ”Castile! Castile! for King Ferdinand
and Queen Isabella!” The words were echoed by the whole army,
with acclamations that resounded across the Vega. At sight of
these signals of possession the sovereigns sank upon their knees,
giving thanks to God for this great triumph; the whole assembled
host followed their example, and the choristers of the royal chapel
broke forth into the solemn anthem of ”Te Deum laudamus.”

The king now advanced with a splendid escort of cavalry and the
sound of trumpets, until he came to a small mosque near the banks
of the Xenil, and not far from the foot of the Hill of Martyrs, which
edifice remains to the present day consecrated as the hermitage of
St. Sebastian. Here he beheld the unfortunate king of Granada
approaching on horseback at the head of his slender retinue. Boabdil
as he drew near made a movement to dismount, but, as had previously
been concerted, Ferdinand prevented him. He then offered to kiss the
king’s hand, which according to arrangement was likewise declined,
whereupon he leaned forward and kissed the king’s right arm; at the
same time he delivered the keys of the city with an air of mingled
melancholy and resignation. ”These keys,” said he, ”are the last
relics of the Arabian empire in Spain: thine, O king, are our trophies,
our kingdom, and our person. Such is the will of God! Receive them
with the clemency thou hast promised, and which we look for at thy
hands.”

Abarca, Anales de Aragon, Rey 30, c. 3.

King Ferdinand restrained his exultation into an air of serene

magnanimity. ”Doubt not our promises,” replied he, ”nor that thou
shalt regain from our friendship the prosperity of which the fortune
of war has deprived thee.”

Being informed that Don Inigo Lopez de Mendoza, the good count
of Tendilla, was to be governor of the city, Boabdil drew from his
finger a gold ring set with a precious stone and presented it to the
count. ”With this ring,” said he, ”Granada has been governed; take
it and govern with it, and God make you more fortunate than I!”

312
 This ring remained in the possession of the descendants of the
count until the death of the marques Don Inigo, the last male heir,
who died in Malaga, without children, in 1656. The ring was then
lost through inadvertence and ignorance of its value, Dona Maria,
the sister of the marques, being absent in Madrid–”Alcantara,” 1.
4, c.18.

He then proceeded to the village of Armilla, where the queen

Isabella remained with her escort and attendants. The queen, like
her husband, declined all acts of homage, and received him with her
accustomed grace and benignity. She at the same time delivered to
him his son, who had been held as a hostage for the fulfilment of
the capitulation. Boabdil pressed his child to his bosom with tender
emotion, and they seemed mutually endeared to each other by their
misfortunes.

Zurita, Anales de Aragon, lib. 20, cap. 92.

Having rejoined his family, the unfortunate Boabdil continued on

toward the Alpuxarras, that he might not behold the entrance of the
Christians into his capital. His devoted band of cavaliers followed
him in gloomy silence, but heavy sighs burst from their bosoms as
shouts of joy and strains of triumphant music were borne on the
breeze from the victorious army.

Having rejoined his family, Boabdil set forth with a heavy heart for
his allotted residence in the valley of Purchena. At two leagues’
distance the cavalcade, winding into the skirts of the Alpuxarras,
ascended an eminence commanding the last view of Granada. As
they arrived at this spot the Moors paused involuntarily to take a
farewell gaze at their beloved city, which a few steps more would
shut from their sight for ever. Never had it appeared so lovely in
their eyes. The sunshine, so bright in that transparent climate, lit
up each tower and minaret, and rested gloriously upon the crowning
battlements of the Alhambra, while the Vega spread its enamelled
bosom of verdure below, glistening with the silver windings of the
Xenil. The Moorish cavaliers gazed with a silent agony of tenderness
and grief upon that delicious abode, the scene of their loves and
pleasures. While they yet looked a light cloud of smoke burst forth
from the citadel, and presently a peal of artillery, faintly heard,
told that the city was taken possession of, and the throne of the
Moslem kings was lost for ever. The heart of Boabdil, softened by
misfortunes and overcharged with grief, could no longer contain
itself. ”Allah Akbar! God is great!” said he but the words of
resignation died upon his lips and he burst into tears.

The mother, the intrepid Ayxa, was indignant at his weakness.

”You do well,” said she, ”to weep like a woman for what you
failed to defend like a man.”

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 The vizier Aben Comixa endeavored to console his royal master.
”Consider, senor,” said he, ”that the most signal misfortunes often
render men as renowned as the most prosperous achievements,
provided they sustain them with magnanimity.”

The unhappy monarch, however, was not to be consoled; his tears

continued to flow. ”Allah Akbar!” exclaimed he, ”when did misfortune
ever equal mine?”

From this circumstance the hill, which is not far from Padul, took
the name of Feg Allah Akbar, but the point of view commanding the
last prospect of Granada is known among Spaniards by the name
of ”El ultimo suspiro del Moro,” or ”The last sigh of the Moor.”

CHAPTER C.

HOW THE CASTILIAN SOVEREIGNS TOOK POSSESSION

OF GRANADA.

Queen Isabella having joined the king, the royal pair, followed by
a triumphant host, passed up the road by the Hill of Martyrs, and
thence to the main entrance of the Alhambra. The grand cardinal
awaited them under the lofty arch of the great Gate of Justice,
accompanied by Don Gutierrez de Cardenas and Aben Comixa. Here
King Ferdinand gave the keys which had been delivered up to him
into the hands of the queen; they were passed successively into
the hands of the prince Juan, the grand cardinal, and finally into
those of the count de Tendilla, in whose custody they remained,
that brave cavalier having been named alcayde of the Alhambra
and captain-general of Granada.

The sovereigns did not remain long in the Alhambra on this first
visit, but, leaving a strong garrison there under the count de
Tendilla to maintain tranquillity in the palace and the subjacent
city, returned to the camp at Santa Fe.

We must not omit to mention a circumstance attending the surrender

of the city which spoke eloquently to the hearts of the victors. As
the royal army had advanced in all the pomp of courtly and chivalrous
array, a procession of a different kind came forth to meet it. This was
composed of more than five hundred Christian captives, many of whom
had languished for years in Moorish dungeons. Pale and emaciated,
they came clanking their chains in triumph and shedding tears of joy.
They were received with tenderness by the sovereigns. The king hailed
them as good Spaniards, as men loyal and brave, as martyrs to the holy
cause; the queen distributed liberal relief among them with her own

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hands, and they passed on before the squadrons of the army singing
hymns of jubilee.

Abarca, lib. sup.; Zurita, etc.

The sovereigns forebore to enter the city until it should be fully

occupied by their troops and public tranquillity ensured. All this
was done under the vigilant superintendence of the count de
Tendilla, assisted by the marques of Villena, and the glistening of
Christian helms and lances along the walls and bulwarks, and the
standards of the faith and of the realm daunting from the towers,
told that the subjugation of the city was complete. The proselyte
prince, Cid Hiaya, now known by the Christian appellation of Don
Pedro de Granada Vanegas, was appointed chief alguazil of the city,
and had charge of the Moorish inhabitants, and his son, lately the
prince Alnayar, now Alonso de Granada Vanegas, was appointed
admiral of the fleet.

Cid Hiaya was made cavalier of the order of Santiago. He and his
son intermarried with the Spanish nobility, and the marqueses of
Compotejar are among their descendants. Their portraits and the
portraits of their grandsons are to be seen in one of the rooms of
the Generalife at Granada.

It was on the sixth of January, the Day of Kings and festival of the
Epiphany, that the sovereigns made their triumphant entry with grand
military parade. First advanced, we are told, a splendid escort of
cavaliers in burnished armor and superbly mounted. Then followed
the prince Juan, glittering with jewels and diamonds; on each side of
him, mounted on mules, rode the grand cardinal, clothed in purple,
Fray Hernando de Talavera, bishop of Airla and the archbishop-elect
of Granada. To these succeeded the queen and her ladies, and the
king, managing in galliard style, say the Spanish chroniclers, a proud
and mettlesome steed (un caballo arrogante). Then followed the
army in shining columns, with flaunting banners and the inspiring
clamor of military music. The king and queen (says the worthy Fray
Antonio Agapida) looked on this occasion as more than mortal: the
venerable ecclesiastics, to whose advice and zeal this glorious
conquest ought in a great measure be attributed, moved along with
hearts swelling with holy exultation, but with chastened and downcast
looks of edifying humility; while the hardy warriors, in tossing plumes
and shining steel, seemed elevated with a stern joy at finding
themselves in possession of this object of so many toils and perils.
As the streets resounded with the tramp of steeds and swelling
peals of music the Moors buried themselves in the deepest recesses
of their dwellings. There they bewailed in secret the fallen glory of
their race, but suppressed their groans, lest they should be heard
by their enemies and increase their triumph.

The royal procession advanced to the principal mosque, which had

315
been consecrated as a cathedral. Here the sovereigns offered up
prayers and thanksgivings, and the choir of the royal chapel chanted
a triumphant anthem, in which they were joined by all the courtiers
and cavaliers. Nothing (says Fray Antonio Agapida) could exceed the
thankfulness to God of the pious king Ferdinand for having enabled
him to eradicate from Spain the empire and name of that accursed
heathen race, and for the elevation of the cross in that city wherein
the impious doctrines of Mahomet had so long been cherished. In
the fervor of his spirit he supplicated from heaven a continuance
of its grace and that this glorious triumph might be perpetuated.
The prayer of the pious monarch was responded to by the people,
and even his enemies were for once convinced of his sincerity.

The words of Fray Antonio Agapida are little more than an echo
of those of the worthy Jesuit father Mariana (1. 25, c. 18).

When the religious ceremonies were concluded the court ascended to

the stately palace of the Alhambra and entered by the great Gate of
Justice. The halls lately occupied by turbaned infidels now rustled
with stately dames and Christian courtiers, who wandered with eager
curiosity over this far-famed palace, admiring its verdant courts and
gushing fountains, its halls decorated with elegant arabesques and
storied with inscriptions, and the splendor of its gilded and brilliantly
painted ceilings.

It had been a last request of the unfortunate Boabdil–and one which

showed how deeply he felt the transition of his fate–that no person
might be permitted to enter or depart by the gate of the Alhambra
through which he had sallied forth to surrender his capital. His
request was granted; the portal was closed up, and remains so to
the present day–a mute memorial of that event.

Garibay, Compend. Hist., lib. 40, c. 42. The existence of this

gateway and the story connected with it are perhaps known to few,
but were identified in the researches made to verify this history.
The gateway is at the bottom of a tower at some distance from the
main body of the Alhambra. The tower had been rent and ruined by
gunpowder at the time when the fortress was evacuated by the French.
Great masses lie around half covered by vines and fig trees. A poor
man, by the name of Mateo Ximenes, who lives in one of the halls
among the ruins of the Alhambra, where his family has resided for
many generations, pointed out to the author the gateway, still
closed up with stones. He remembered to have heard his father and
grandfather say that it had always been stopped up, and that out of
it King Boabdil had gone when he surrendered Granada. The route of
the unfortunate king may be traced thence across the garden of the
convent of Los Martyros, and down a ravine beyond, through a street
of gypsy caves and hovels, by the gate of Los Molinos, and so on to
the Hermitage of St. Sebastian. None but an antiquarian, however,
will be able to trace it unless aided by the humble historian of the

316
place, Mateo Ximenes.

The Spanish sovereigns fixed their throne in the presence-chamber of

the palace, so long the seat of Moorish royalty. Hither the principal
inhabitants of Granada repaired to pay them homage and kiss their
hands in token of vassalage, and their example was followed by
deputies from all the towns and fortresses of the Alpuxarras which
had not hitherto submitted.

Thus terminated the war of Granada, after ten years of incessant

fighting, equalling (says Fray Antonio Agapida) the far-famed siege
of Troy in duration, and ending, like that, in the capture of the
city. Thus ended also the dominion of the Moors in Spain, having
endured seven hundred and seventy-eight years from the memorable
defeat of Roderick, the last of the Goths, on the banks of the
Guadalete. The authentic Agapida is uncommonly particular in fixing
the epoch of this event. This great triumph of our holy Catholic
faith, according to his computation, took place in the beginning of
January in the year of our Lord 1492, being 3655 years from the
population of Spain by the patriarch Tubal, 3797 from the general
deluge, 5453 from the creation of the world, according to Hebrew
calculation, and in the month Rabic, in the eight hundred and
ninety-seventh year of the Hegira, or flight of Mahomet, whom
may God confound! saith the pious Agapida.

APPENDIX.

The Chronicle of the Conquest of Granada is finished, but the reader

may be desirous of knowing the subsequent fortunes of some of the
principal personages.

The unfortunate Boabdil retired with his mother, his wife, his son,
his sister, his vizier and bosom-counsellor Aben Comixa, and many
other relatives and friends, to the valley of Purchena, where a
small but fertile territory had been allotted him, comprising several
towns of the Alpuxarras, with all their rights and revenues. Here,
surrounded by obedient vassals, devoted friends, and a loving
family, and possessed of wealth sufficient to enable him to indulge
in his habitual luxury and magnificence, he for a time led a tranquil
life, and may have looked back upon his regal career as a troubled
dream from which he had happily awaked. Still, he appears to have
pleased himself with a shadow of royalty, making occasionally
progresses about his little domains, visiting the different towns,
receiving the homage of the inhabitants, and bestowing largesses
with a princely hand. His great delight, however, was in sylvan
sports and exercises, with horses, hawks, and hounds, being
passionately fond of hunting and falconry, so as to pass weeks
together in sporting campaigns among the mountains. The jealous
suspicions of Ferdinand followed him into his retreat. No exertions
were spared by the politically pious monarch to induce him to embrace

317
the Christian religion as a means of severing him in feelings and
sympathies from his late subjects; but he remained true to the faith
of his fathers, and it must have added not a little to his humiliation
to live a vassal under Christian sovereigns.

His obstinacy in this respect aggravated the distrust of Ferdinand,

who, looking back upon the past inconstancy of the Moors, could not
feel perfectly secure in his newly-conquered territories while there
was one within their bounds who might revive pretensions to the
throne and rear the standard of an opposite faith in their behalf.
He caused, therefore, a vigilant watch to be kept upon the dethroned
monarch in his retirement, and beset him with spies who were to
report all his words and actions. The reader will probably be
surprised to learn that the foremost of these spies was Aben Comixa!
Ever since the capture and release of the niece of the vizier by the
count de Tendilla, Aben Comixa had kept up a friendly correspondence
with that nobleman, and through this channel had gradually been
brought over to the views of Ferdinand. Documents which have
gradually come to light leave little doubt that the vizier had been
corrupted by the bribes and promises of the Spanish king, and had
greatly promoted his views in the capitulation of Granada. It is
certain that he subsequently received great estates from the
Christian sovereigns. While residing in confidential friendship with
Boabdil in his retirement Aben Comixa communicated secretly with
Hernando de Zafra, the secretary of Ferdinand, who resided at
Granada, giving him information of all Boabdil’s movements, which
the secretary reported by letter to the king. Some of the letters of
the secretary still exist in the archives of Samancas, and have been
recently published in the collection of unedited documents.

El rey Muley Babdali (Boabdil) y sus criados andan continuamente

a casa con glagos y azores, y alla esta agora en al campo de Dalias
y en Verja, aunque su casa tiene en Andarax, y dican que estara
alla por todo este mes.–”Carta Secreta de Hernando de Zafra,”
Decembre, 1492

The jealous doubts of Ferdinand were quickened by the letters of his

spies. He saw in the hunting campaigns and royal progresses of the
ex-king a mode of keeping up a military spirit and a concerted
intelligence among the Moors of the Alpuxarras that might prepare
them for future rebellion. By degrees the very residence of Boabdil
within the kingdom became incompatible with Ferdinand’s ideas of
security. He gave his agents, therefore, secret instructions to work
upon the mind of the deposed monarch, and induce him, like El Zagal,
to relinquish his Spanish estates for valuable considerations and
retire to Africa. Boabdil, however, was not to be persuaded: to the
urgent suggestions of these perfidious counsellors he replied that
he had given up a kingdom to live in peace, and had no idea of
going to a foreign land to encounter new troubles and to be under
the control of alarabes.

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 Letter of Hernando de Zafra to the sovereigns, Dec. 9, 1493.

Ferdinand persisted in his endeavors, and found means more effectual

of operating on the mind of Boabdil and gradually disposing him to
enter into negotiations. It would appear that Aben Comixa was
secretly active in this matter in the interests of the Spanish
monarch, and was with him at Barcelona as the vizier and agent
of Boabdil. The latter, however, finding that his residence in the
Alpuxarras was a cause of suspicion and uneasiness to Ferdinand,
determined to go himself to Barcelona, have a conference with the
sovereigns, and conduct all his negotiations with them in person.
Zafra, the secretary of Ferdinand, who was ever on the alert, wrote
a letter from Granada apprising the king of Boabdil’s intention, and
that he was making preparations for the journey. He received a
letter in reply, charging him by subtle management to prevent, or
at least delay, the coming of Boabdil to court. The crafty monarch
trusted to effect through Aben Comixa as vizier and agent of Boabdil
an arrangement which it might be impossible to obtain from Boabdil
himself. The politic plan was carried into effect. Boabdil was
detained at Andarax by the management of Zafra. In the mean time
a scandalous bargain was made on the 17th March, 1493, between
Ferdinand and Aben Comixa, in which the latter, as vizier and agent
of Boabdil, though without any license or authority from him, made
a sale of his territory and the patrimonial property of the princesses
for eighty thousand ducats of gold, and engaged that he should
depart for Africa, taking care, at the same time, to make conditions
highly advantageous for himself.

Letter of the sovereigns to Hernando de Zafra from Barcelona,

Feb., 1493.

Alcantara, Hist. Granad., iv. c. 18.

This bargain being hastily concluded, Yusef Aben Comixa loaded the
treasure upon mules and departed for the Alpuxarras. Here, spreading
the money before Boabdil, ”Senior,” said he, ”I have observed that
as long as you live here you are exposed to constant peril. The
Moors are rash and irritable; they may make some sudden insurrection,
elevate your standard as a pretext, and thus overwhelm you and
your friends with utter ruin. I have observed also that you pine
away with grief, being continually reminded in this country that you
were once its sovereign, but never more must hope to reign. I have
put an end to these evils. Your territory is sold–behold the price
of it! With this gold you may buy far greater possessions in Africa,
where you may live in honor and security.”

When Boabdil heard these words he burst into a sudden transport of

rage, and, drawing his scimetar, would have sacrificed the officious
Yusef on the spot had not the attendants interfered and hurried the

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vizier from his presence.

Marmol, Rebel. 1. 1, c. 22.

The rage of Boabdil gradually subsided: he saw that he had been

duped and betrayed, but he knew the spirit of Ferdinand too well
to hope that he would retract the bargain, however illegitimately
effected. He contented himself, therefore, with obtaining certain
advantageous modifications, and then prepared to bid a final adieu
to his late kingdom and his native land.

It took some months to make the necessary arrangements, or, rather,

his departure was delayed by a severe domestic affliction. Morayma,
his gentle and affectionate wife, worn out by agitations and alarms,
was gradually sinking into the grave, a prey to devouring melancholy.
Her death took place toward the end of August. Hernando de Zafra
apprised King Ferdinand of the event as one propitious to his purposes,
removing an obstacle to the embarkation, which was now fixed for the
month of September. Zafra was instructed to accompany the exiles
until he saw them landed on the African coast.

The embarkation, however, did not take place until some time in the
month of October. A caracca had been prepared at the port of Adra
for Boabdil and his immediate family and friends. Another caracca
and two galliots received a number of faithful adherents, amounting,
it is said, to eleven hundred and thirty, who followed their prince
into exile.

A crowd of his former subjects witnessed his embarkation. As the

sails were unfurled and swelled to the breeze, and the vessel
bearing Boabdil parted from the land, the spectators would fain have
given him a farewell cheering; but the humbled state of their once
proud sovereign forced itself upon their minds, and the ominous
surname of his youth rose involuntarily to their tongues: ”Farewell,
Boabdil! Allah preserve thee, ’El Zogoybi!’” burst spontaneously
from their lips. The unlucky appellation sank into the heart of the
expatriated monarch, and tears dimmed his eyes as the snowy
summits of the mountains of Granada gradually faded from his view.

He was received with welcome at the court of his relative, Muley

Ahmed, caliph of Fez, the same who had treated El Zagal with such
cruelty in his exile. For thirty-four years he resided in this court,
treated with great consideration, and built a palace or alcazar at
Fez, in which, it is said, he endeavored to emulate the beauties and
delights of the Alhambra.

The last we find recorded of him is in the year 1536, when he

followed the caliph to the field to repel the invasion of two
brothers of the famous line of the Xerifes, who at the head of
Berber troops had taken the city of Morocco and threatened Fez.

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The armies came in sight of each other on the banks of the Guadal
Hawit, or river of slaves, at the ford of Balcuba. The river was deep,
the banks were high and broken, and the ford could only be passed
in single file; for three days the armies remained firing at each other
across the stream, neither venturing to attempt the dangerous ford.
At length the caliph divided his army into three battalions: the
command of the first he gave to his brother-in-law and to Aliatar,
son of the old alcayde of Loxa; another division he commanded
himself; and the third, composed of his best marksmen, he put
under the command of his son, the prince of Fez, and Boabdil, now
a gray-haired veteran. The last mentioned column took the lead,
dashed boldly across the ford, scrambled up the opposite bank, and
attempted to keep the enemy employed until the other battalions
should have time to cross. The rebel army, however, attacked them
with such fury that the son of the king of Fez and several of the
bravest alcaydes were slain upon the spot; multitudes were driven
back into the river, which was already crowded with passing troops.
A dreadful confusion took place; the horse trampled upon the foot;
the enemy pressed on them with fearful slaughter; those who escaped
the sword perished by the stream; the river was choked by the dead
bodies of men and horses and by the scattered baggage of the army.
In this scene of horrible carnage fell Boabdil, truly called El Zogoybi,
or the Unlucky–an instance, says the ancient chronicler, of the
scornful caprice of fortune, dying in defence of the kingdom of
another after wanting spirit to die in defence of his own.

Marmol, Descrip. de Africa, p. 1, 1. 2, c. 40; idem, Hist. Reb. de

los Moros, lib. 1, c. 21.

The aspersion of the chronicler is more caustic than correct. Boabdil

never showed a want of courage in the defence of Granada, but he
wanted firmness and decision: he was beset from the first by
perplexities, and ultimately by the artifices of Ferdinand and the
treachery of those in whom he most confided.

In revising this account of the ultimate fortunes of Boabdil the

author has availed himself of facts recently brought out in
Alcantara’s History of Granada, which throw strong lights on
certain parts of the subject hitherto covered with obscurity.

ZORAYA, THE STAR OF THE MORNING.

Notwithstanding the deadly rivalship of this youthful sultana with

Ayxa la Horra, the virtuous mother of Boabdil, and the disasters
to which her ambitious intrigues gave rise, the placable spirit of
Boabdil bore her no lasting enmity. After the death of his father
he treated her with respect and kindness, and evinced a brotherly
feeling toward her sons Cad and Nazar. In the capitulations for
the surrender of Granada he took care of her interests, and the
possessions which he obtained for her were in his neighborhood in

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the valleys of the Alpuxarras. Zoraya, however, under the influence
of Queen Isabella, returned to the Christian faith, the religion of
her infancy, and resumed her Spanish name of Isabella. Her two sons,
Cad and Nazar, were baptized under the names of Don Fernando and
Don Juan de Granada, and were permitted to take the titles of infantas
or princes. They intermarried with noble Spanish families, and the
dukes of Granada, resident in Valladolid, are descendants of Don
Juan (once Nazar), and preserve to the present day the blazon of
their royal ancestor, Muley Abul Hassan, and his motto, Le Galib ile
Ala, God alone is conqueror.

FATE OF ABEN COMIXA.

An ancient chronicle which has long remained in manuscript, but has

been published of late years in the collection of Spanish historical
documents, informs us of the subsequent fortunes of the perfidious
Aben Comixa. Discarded and despised by Boabdil for his treachery,
he repaired to the Spanish court, and obtained favor in the eyes of
the devout queen Isabella by embracing the Christian religion, being
baptized under her auspices with the name of Don Juan de Granada.
He even carried his zeal for his newly-adopted creed so far as to
become a Franciscan friar. By degrees his affected piety grew cool
and the friar’s garb became irksome. Taking occasion of the sailing
of some Venetian galleys from Almeria, he threw off his religious habit,
embarked on board of one of them, and crossed to Africa, where he
landed in the dress of a Spanish cavalier.

Padilla, Cronica de Felipe el Hermosa, cap. 18, y 19, as cited

by Alcantara.

In a private interview with Abderraman, the Moorish king of Bujia,

he related his whole history, and declared that he had always been
and still was at heart a true Mahometan. Such skill had he in
inspiring confidence that the Moorish king took him into favor and
appointed him governor of Algiers. While enjoying his new dignity a
Spanish squadron of four galleys, under the celebrated count Pedro
de Navarro, anchored in the harbor in 1509. Aben Comixa paid the
squadron a visit of ceremony in his capacity of governor, gave the
count repeated fetes, and in secret conversations with him laid open
all the affairs of the king of Bujia, and offered, if the count should
return with sufficient force, to deliver the city into his hands and
aid him in conquering the whole territory. The count hastened back
to Spain and made known the proposed treachery to the Cardinal
Ximenes, then prime minister of Spain. In the following month of
January he was sent with thirty vessels and four thousand soldiers
to achieve the enterprise. The expedition of Navarro was successful.
He made himself master of Bujia and seized in triumph on the royal
palace, but he found there the base Aben Comixa weltering in his
blood and expiring under numerous wounds. His treachery had
been discovered, and the vengeance of the king of Bujia had closed

322
his perfidious career.

DEATH OF THE MARQUES OF CADIZ.

The renowned Roderigo Ponce de Leon, marques-duke of Cadiz, was

unquestionably the most distinguished among the cavaliers of Spain
for his zeal, enterprise, and heroism in the great crusade of Granada.
He began the war by the capture of Alhama; he was engaged in
almost every inroad and siege of importance during its continuance;
and was present at the surrender of the capital, the closing scene
of the conquest. The renown thus acquired was sealed by his

death, which happened in the forty-eighth year of his age, almost

immediately at the close of his triumphs and before a leaf of his
laurels had time to wither. He died at his palace in the city of
Seville on the 27th day of August, 1492, but a few months after
the surrender of Granada, and of an illness caused by exposures and
fatigues undergone in this memorable war. That honest chronicler,
Andres Bernaldez, the curate of Los Palacios, who was a contemporary
of the marques, draws his portrait from actual knowledge and
observation. He was universally cited (says he) as the most perfect
model of chivalrous virtue of the age. He was temperate, chaste, and
rigidly devout, a benignant commander, a valiant defender of his
vassals, a great lover of justice, and an enemy to all flatterers,
liars, robbers, traitors, and poltroons.

His ambition was of a lofty kind: he sought to distinguish himself

and his family by heroic and resounding deeds, and to increase the
patrimony of his ancestors by the acquisition of castles, domains,
vassals, and other princely possessions. His recreations were
all of a warlike nature; he delighted in geometry as applied to
fortifications, and spent much time and treasure in erecting and
repairing fortresses. He relished music, but of a military kind–the
sound of clarions and sackbuts, of drums and trumpets. Like a true
cavalier, he was a protector of the sex on all occasions, and an
injured woman never applied to him in vain for redress. His prowess
was so well known, and his courtesy to the fair, that the ladies of
the court, when they accompanied the queen to the wars, rejoiced to
find themselves under his protection; for wherever his banner was
displayed the Moors dreaded to adventure. He was a faithful and
devoted friend, but a formidable enemy; for he was slow to forgive,
and his vengeance was persevering and terrible.

The death of this good and well-beloved cavalier spread grief and
lamentation throughout all ranks. His relations, dependants, and
companions-in-arms put on mourning for his loss, and so numerous
were they that half of Seville was clad in black. None, however,
deplored his death more deeply and sincerely than his friend and
chosen companion Don Alonso de Aguilar.

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 The funeral ceremonies were of the most solemn and sumptuous kind.
The body of the marques was arrayed in a costly shirt, a doublet of
brocade, a sayo or long robe of black velvet, a marlota or Moorish
tunic of brocade reaching to the feet, and scarlet stockings. His
sword, superbly gilt, was girded to his side, as he used to wear it
when in the field. Thus magnificently attired, the body was enclosed
in a coffin which was covered with black velvet and decorated with a
cross of white damask. It was then placed on a sumptuous bier in the
centre of the great hall of the palace. Here the duchess made great
lamentation over the body of her lord, in which she was joined by
her train of damsels and attendants, as well as by the pages and
esquires and innumerable vassals.

In the close of the evening, just before the Ave Maria, the funeral
train issued from the palace. Ten banners were borne around the
bier, the particular trophies of the marques won from the Moors
by his valor in individual enterprises before King Ferdinand had
commenced the war of Granada. The procession was swelled by
an immense train of bishops, priests, and friars of different orders,
together with the civil and military authorities and all the chivalry
of Seville, headed by the count of Cifuentes, at that time intendente
or commander of the city. It moved slowly and solemnly through the
streets, stopping occasionally and chanting litanies and responses.
Two hundred and forty waxen tapers shed a light like the day about
the bier. The balconies and windows were crowded with ladies, who
shed tears as the funeral train passed by, while the women of the
lower classes were loud in their lamentations, as if bewailing the
loss of a father or a brother. On approaching the convent of St.
Augustine the monks came forth with the cross and tapers and
eight censers and conducted the body into the church, where it lay
in state until all the vigils were performed by the different orders,
after which it was deposited in the family tomb of the Ponces in the
same church, and the ten banners were suspended over the sepulchre.

Cura de los Palacios, c.104.

The tomb of the valiant Roderigo Ponce de Leon, with his banners
mouldering above it, remained for ages an object of veneration with
all who had read or heard of his virtues and achievements. In the
year 1810, however, the chapel was sacked by the French, its altars
were overturned, and the sepulchres of the family of the Ponces
shattered to pieces. The present duchess of Benevente, the worthy
descendant of this illustrious and heroic line, has since piously
collected the ashes of her ancestors, restored the altar, and
repaired the chapel. The sepulchres, however, were utterly
destroyed: an inscription in gold letters on the wall of the chapel
to the right of the altar is all that denotes the place of sepulture
of the brave Ponce de Leon.

THE LEGEND OF THE DEATH OF DON ALONSO DE AGUILAR.

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 To such as feel an interest in the fortune of the valiant Don Alonso
de Aguilar, the chosen friend and companion-in-arms of Ponce de
Leon, marques of Cadiz, and one of the most distinguished heroes
of the war of Granada, a few particulars of his remarkable fate will
not be unacceptable.

For several years after the conquest of Granada the country remained
feverish and unquiet. The zealous efforts of the Catholic clergy to
effect the conversion of the infidels, and the coercion used for that
purpose by government, exasperated the stubborn Moors of the
mountains. Several missionaries were maltreated, and in the town
of Dayrin two of them were seized and exhorted, with many menaces,
to embrace the Moslem faith; on their resolutely refusing they were
killed with staves and stones by the Moorish women and children, and
their bodies burnt to ashes.

Cura de los Palacios, c. 165.

Upon this event a body of Christian cavaliers assembled in Andalusia

to the number of eight hundred, and, without waiting for orders from
the king, revenged the death of these martyrs by plundering and
laying waste the Moorish towns and villages. The Moors fled to the
mountains, and their cause was espoused by many of their nation
who inhabited those rugged regions. The storm of rebellion began to
gather and mutter its thunders in the Alpuxarras. They were echoed
from the Serrania of Ronda, ever ready for rebellion, but the strongest
hold of the insurgents was in the Sierra[12]Bermeja, or chain of Red
Mountains, which lie near the sea, the savage rocks and precipices
of which may be seen from Gibraltar.

When King Ferdinand heard of these tumults he issued a proclamation

ordering all the Moors of the insurgent regions to leave them within
ten days and repair to Castile; giving secret instructions, however,
that those who should voluntarily embrace the Christian faith might
be permitted to remain. At the same time he ordered Don Alonso de
Aguilar and the counts of Urena and Cifuentes to march against the
rebels.

Don Alonso de Aguilar was at Cordova when he received the commands

of the king. ”What force is allotted us for this expedition?” said he.
On being told, he perceived that the number of troops was far from
adequate. ”When a man is dead,” said he, ”we send four men into
his house to bring forth the body. We are now sent to chastise these
Moors, who are alive, vigorous, in open rebellion, and ensconced in
their castles; yet they do not give us man to man.” These words of
the brave Alonso de Aguilar were afterward frequently repeated, but,
though he saw the desperate nature of the enterprise, he did not
hesitate to undertake it.

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 Don Alonso was at that time in the fifty-first year of his age –a
warrior in whom the fire of youth was yet unquenched, though
tempered by experience. The greater part of his life had been spent
in camp and field until danger was as his habitual element. His
muscular frame had acquired the firmness of iron without the rigidity
of age. His armor and weapons seemed to have become a part
of his nature, and he sat like a man of steel on his powerful
war-horse.

He took with him on this expedition his son, Don Pedro de Cordova, a
youth of bold and generous spirit, in the freshness of his days, and
armed and arrayed with the bravery of a young Spanish cavalier. When
the populace of Cordova beheld the veteran father, the warrior of a
thousand battles, leading forth his son to the field, they bethought
themselves of the family appellation. ”Behold,” cried they, ”the eagle
teaching his young to fly! Long live the valiant line of Aguilar!”

”Aguilar,” the Spanish for eagle.

The prowess of Don Alonso and of his companions-in-arms was

renowned throughout the Moorish towns. At their approach,
therefore, numbers of the Moors submitted, and hastened to
Ronda to embrace Christianity. Among the mountaineers, however,
were many of the Gandules, a tribe from Africa, too proud of spirit
to bend their necks to the yoke. At their head was a Moor named
El Feri of Ben Estepar, renowned for strength and courage. At his
instigation his followers gathered together their families and most
precious effects, placed them on mules, and, driving before them
their flocks and herds, abandoned their valleys and retired up the
craggy passes of the Sierra[13]Bermeja. On the summit was a fertile
plain surrounded by rocks and precipices, which formed a natural
fortress. Here El Feri placed all the women and children and all the
property. By his orders his followers piled great stones on the rocks
and cliffs which commanded the defiles and the steep sides of the
mountain, and prepared to defend every pass that led to his place
of refuge.

The Christian commanders arrived, and pitched their camp before the
town of Monarda, a strong place, curiously fortified, and situated
at the foot of the highest part of the Sierra [14]Bermeja. Here they
remained for several days, unable to compel a surrender. They were
separated from the skirt of the mountain by a deep barranca, or
ravine, at the bottom of which flowed a small stream. The Moors
commanded by El Feri drew down from their mountain-height, and
remained on the opposite side of the brook to defend a pass which
led up to their stronghold.

One afternoon a number of Christian soldiers in mere bravado seized

a banner, crossed the brook, and, scrambling up the opposite bank,
attacked the Moors. They were followed by numbers of their

326
companions, some in aid, some in emulation, but most in hope of
booty. A sharp action ensued on the mountain-side. The Moors were
greatly superior in number, and had the vantage-ground. When the
counts of Urena and Cifuentes beheld the skirmish, they asked Don
Alonso de Aguilar his opinion. ”My opinion,” said he, ”was given at
Cordova, and remains the same: this is a desperate enterprise.
However, the Moors are at hand, and if they suspect weakness in
us it will increase their courage and our peril. Forward then to the
attack, and I trust in God we shall gain a victory.” So saying, he
led his troops into the battle.

Bleda, 1. 5, c. 26.

On the skirts of the mountain were several level places, like

terraces; here the Christians pressed valiantly upon the Moors, and
had the advantage; but the latter retreated to the steep and craggy
heights, whence they hurled darts and rocks upon their assailants.
They defended their passes and defiles with valor, but were driven
from height to height until they reached the plain on the summit of
the mountain where their wives and children were sheltered. Here
they would have made a stand, but Alonso de Aguilar, with his son
Don Pedro, charged upon them at the head of three hundred men
and put them to flight with great carnage. While they were pursuing
the flying enemy the rest of the army, thinking the victory achieved,
dispersed themselves over the little plain in search of plunder.
They pursued the shrieking females, tearing off their necklaces,
bracelets, and anklets of gold, and they found so much treasure of
various kinds collected in this spot that they threw by their armor
and weapons to load themselves with booty.

Evening was closing. The Christians, intent upon spoil, had ceased
to pursue the Moors, and the latter were arrested in their flight by
the cries of their wives and children. Their leader, El Feri, threw
himself before them. ”Friends, soldiers,” cried he, ”whither do you
fly? Whither can you seek refuge where the enemy cannot follow
you? Your wives, your children, are behind you–turn and defend
them; you have no chance for safety but from the weapons in your
hands.”

The Moors turned at his words. They beheld the Christians scattered
about the plain, many of them without armor, and all encumbered with
spoil. ”Now is the time!” shouted El Feri: ”charge upon them while
laden with your plunder. I will open a path for you.” He rushed to
the attack, followed by his Moors, with shouts and cries that echoed
through the mountains. The scattered Christians were seized with
panic, and, throwing down their booty, began to fly in all directions.
Don Alonso de Aguilar advanced his banner and endeavored to rally
them. Finding his horse of no avail in these rocky heights, he
dismounted, and caused his men to do the same: he had a small
band of tried followers, with which he opposed a bold front to the

327
Moors, calling on the scattered troops to rally in the rear.

Night had completely closed. It prevented the Moors from seeing the
smallness of the force with which they were contending, and Don
Alonso and his cavaliers dealt their blows so vigorously that, aided
by the darkness, they seemed multiplied to ten times their number.
Unfortunately, a small cask of gunpowder blew up near to the scene
of action. It shed a momentary but brilliant light over all the plain
and on every rock and cliff. The Moors beheld, with surprise, that
they were opposed by a mere handful of men, and that the greater
part of the Christians were flying from the field. They put up loud
shouts of triumph. While some continued the conflict with redoubled
ardor, others pursued the fugitives, hurling after them stones and
darts and discharging showers of arrows. Many of the Christians in
their terror and their ignorance of the mountains, rushed headlong
from the brinks of precipices and were dashed in pieces.

Don Alonso still maintained his ground, but, while some of the Moors
assailed him in front, others galled him with all kinds of missiles
from the impending cliffs. Some of the cavaliers, seeing the
hopeless nature of the conflict, proposed to abandon the height and
retreat down the mountain. ”No,” said Don Alonso proudly; ”never
did the banner of the house of Aguilar retreat one foot in the field of
battle.” He had scarcely uttered these words when his son Pedro
was stretched at his feet. A stone hurled from a cliff had struck out
two of his teeth, and a lance passed quivering through his thigh.
The youth attempted to rise, and, with one knee on the ground, to
fight by the side of his father. Don Alonso, finding him wounded,
urged him to quit the field. ”Fly, my son,” said he; ”let us not put
everything at venture upon one hazard. Conduct thyself as a good
Christian, and live to comfort and honor thy mother.”

Don Pedro still refused to leave his side. Whereupon Don Alonso
ordered several of his followers to bear him off by force. His friend
Don Francisco Alvarez of Cordova, taking him in his arms, conveyed
him to the quarters of the count of Urena, who had halted on the
height at some distance from the scene of battle for the purpose of
rallying and succoring the fugitives. Almost at the same moment the
count beheld his own son, Don Pedro Giron, brought in grievously
wounded.

In the mean time, Don Alonso, with two hundred cavaliers, maintained
the unequal contest. Surrounded by foes, they fell, one after another,
like so many stags encircled by the hunters. Don Alonso was the last
survivor, without horse and almost without armor, his corselet unlaced
and his bosom gashed with wounds. Still, he kept a brave front to the
enemy, and, retiring between two rocks, defended himself with such
valor that the slain lay in a heap before him.

He was assailed in this retreat by a Moor of surpassing strength and

328
fierceness. The contest was for some time doubtful, but Don Alonso
received a wound in the head, and another in the breast, which
made him stagger. Closing and grappling with his foe, they had a
desperate struggle, until the Christian cavalier, exhausted by his
wounds, fell upon his back. He still retained his grasp upon his
enemy. ”Think not,” cried he, ”thou hast an easy prize; know that
I am Don Alonso, he of Aguilar!”–”If thou art Don Alonso,” replied
the Moor, ”know that I am El Feri of Ben Estepar.” They continued
their deadly struggle, and both drew their daggers, but Don Alonso
was exhausted by seven ghastly wounds: while he was yet struggling
his heroic soul departed from his body, and he expired in the grasp
of the Moor.

Thus fell Alonso de Aguilar, the mirror of Andalusian chivalry–one

of the most powerful grandees of Spain for person, blood, estate,
and office. For forty years he had made successful war upon the
Moors–in childhood by his household and retainers, in manhood by
the prowess of his arm and in the wisdom and valor of his spirit.
His pennon had always been foremost in danger; he had been
general of armies, viceroy of Andalusia, and the author of glorious
enterprises in which kings were vanquished and mighty alcaydes and
warriors laid low. He had slain many Moslem chiefs with his own arm,
and among others the renowned Ali Atar of Loxa, fighting foot to foot,
on the banks of the Xenil. His judgment, discretion, magnanimity,
and justice vied with his prowess. He was the fifth lord of his
warlike house that fell in battle with the Moors.

”His soul,” observes the worthy Padre Abarca, ”it is believed,

ascended to heaven to receive the reward of so Christian a captain;
for that very day he had armed himself with the sacraments of
confession and communion.”

Abarca, Anales de Aragon, Rey xxx. cap. ii.

The Moors, elated with their success, pursued the fugitive

Christians down the defiles and sides of the mountains. It was
with the utmost difficulty that the count de Urena could bring off a
remnant of his forces from that disastrous height. Fortunately, on
the lower slope of the mountain they found the rear-guard of the
army, led by the count de Cifuentes, who had crossed the brook and
the ravine to come to their assistance. As the fugitives came flying
in headlong terror down the mountain it was with difficulty the count
kept his own troops from giving way in panic and retreating in
confusion across the brook. He succeeded, however, in maintaining
order, in rallying the fugitives, and checking the fury of the Moors;
then, taking his station on a rocky eminence, he maintained his post
until morning, sometimes sustaining violent attacks, at other times
rushing forth and making assaults upon the enemy. When morning
dawned the Moors ceased to combat, and drew up to the summit
of the mountain.

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 It was then that the Christians had time to breathe and to ascertain
the sad loss they had sustained. Among the many valiant cavaliers
who had fallen was Don Francisco Ramirez of Madrid, who had been
captain-general of artillery throughout the war of Granada, and
contributed greatly by his valor and ingenuity to that renowned
conquest. But all other griefs and cares were forgotten in anxiety
for the fate of Don Alonso de Aguilar. His son, Don Pedro de
Cordova, had been brought off with great difficulty from the battle,
and afterward lived to be marques of Priego; but of Don Alonso
nothing was known, except that he was left with a handful of
cavaliers fighting valiantly against an overwhelming force.

As the rising sun lighted up the red cliffs of the mountains the
soldiers watched with anxious eyes if perchance his pennon might
be descried fluttering from any precipice or defile, but nothing of
the kind was to be seen. The trumpet-call was repeatedly sounded,
but empty echoes alone replied. A silence reigned about the
mountain-summit which showed that the deadly strife was over.
Now and then a wounded warrior came dragging his feeble steps
from among the cliffs and rocks, but on being questioned he shook
his head mournfully and could tell nothing of the fate of his
commander.

The tidings of this disastrous defeat and of the perilous situation

of the survivors reached King Ferdinand at Granada: he immediately
marched at the head of all the chivalry of his court to the mountains
of Ronda. His presence with a powerful force soon put an end to
the rebellion. A part of the Moors were suffered to ransom
themselves and embark for Africa; others were made to embrace
Christianity; and those of the town where the Christian missionaries
had been massacred were sold as slaves. From the conquered Moors
the mournful but heroic end of Alonso de Aguilar was ascertained.

On the morning after the battle, when the Moors came to strip and
bury the dead, the body of Don Alonso was found among those of
more than two hundred of his followers, many of them alcaydes and
cavaliers of distinction. Though the person of Don Alonso was well
known to the Moors, being so distinguished among them both in peace
and war, yet it was so covered and disfigured with wounds that it
could with difficulty be recognized. They preserved it with great
care, and on making their submission delivered it up to King
Ferdinand. It was conveyed with great state to Cordova, amidst
the tears and lamentations of all Andalusia. When the funeral train
entered Cordova, and the inhabitants saw the coffin containing the
remains of their favorite hero, and the war-horse led in mournful
trappings on which they had so lately seen him sally forth from
their gates, there was a general burst of grief throughout the city.
The body was interred with great pomp and solemnity in the church
of St. Hypolito.

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 Many years afterward his granddaughter, Dona Catalina of Aguilar
and Cordova, marchioness of Priego, caused his tomb to be altered.
On examining the body the head of a lance was found among the
bones, received without doubt among the wounds of his last mortal
combat. The name of this accomplished and Christian cavalier has
ever remained a popular theme of the chronicler and poet, and is
endeared to the public memory by many of the historical ballads and
songs of his country. For a long time the people of Cordova were
indignant at the brave count de Urena, who they thought had
abandoned Don Alonso in his extremity; but the Castilian monarch
acquitted him of all charge of the kind and continued him in honor
and office. It was proved that neither he nor his people could
succor Don Alonso, or even know his peril, from the darkness of the
night. There is a mournful little Spanish ballad or romance which
breathes the public grief on this occasion, and the populace on the
return of the count de Urena to Cordova assailed him with one of its
plaintive and reproachful verses:

Count Urena! Count Urena!

Tell us, where is Don Alonso!

(Dezid conde Urena!

Don Alonso, donde queda?)

Bleda, 1. 5, c. 26.

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